Foster Child
by DeUtvalda
Summary: Yeah, I really suck at summaries, but umm... Clary lives alone in an apartment in Brooklyn, until she is forced to move in with the Lightwoods, her new foster family. They already have two children and an adopted son, an arrogant player whose name happens to be Jace. First fanfic, so I'm a little nervous! Rated T because I'm paranoid. AU/AH probably OOC
1. Leaving New York

I don't own the mortal instruments! Everything belongs to Cassandra Clare.

**A/N: Hi! This is my first fanfic, so I'd really like it if you'd help me with my grammar, spelling and such, and give me a few writing tips! English isn't my first language, so my english lessons in school basically consists of "tall, taller, tallest!" I know I'm not a very good writer, but I'm learning! Also, I think a piece of this author's note got into the story somehow, so if you see "ically consists ... w", just ignore it... :)**

Clary Fray sat curled up by her bedroom window. She had her forehead pressed against the glass, looking out at the city below her. It was 2 am, but there was no way she was going to bed. Not now, not when it was the last time she would ever sit in that spot, the last time she would lie in _her _bed instead of the monstrosity she was probably about to face at her new home. Not when it was her last day in New York City.

Clary pushed her long, red hair out of her face and sighed. She didn't want to leave, but according to the police she had no choice. Apparently, sixteen-year-old girls weren't supposed to live alone in an apartment in Brooklyn, with no family, and no friends. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She'd had Simon, but he'd moved to only god knows where last spring, and she hadn't seen him since.

No, Clary Fray was on her own. The foster family she was about to move in with didn't count, for obvious reasons. She didn't _want _them, she didn't _need _them. She was doing _just fine. _The police could say what they wanted to; it didn't make any difference to her.

In an attempt to swallow her anger, Clary killed the lights and, despite her previous efforts not to, tried desperately to fall asleep, hoping that for once, she'd just wake up and everything would be alright. But of course, the world didn't give a shit about a tiny redhead, curled up in her bed, wishing for the life she used to have to come back and give her a second chance.

.o.O.o.o.

Clary awoke with a start. Someone was knocking on her door. Still groggy from sleep, she sat up, and tried to make sense of the situation.

"Clarissa! Open the door! We have to go now," a familiar voice called from the other side of the door. Groaning, Clary stood up and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and an oversized gray t-shirt – she slept in her underwear and didn't want "the mystery man" to see her practically naked. Clary walked the short distance from her bedroom to the living room (which also served as a kitchen), and pulled on the doorknob, revealing the – very annoyed – middle-aged man standing at her doorstep.

"What?" Clary asked, not so happy herself about this unexpected interruption. She looked at the person before her. He had brown hair streaked with silver, light grey eyes (**A/N: Sorry! I couldn't remember what Hodge looks like! I can't get the books right now, I'm on vacation. Also, I'm not sure about the foot-or is it feet?-and inches thingy…) **and he stood little over 6 feet tall. Hodge Starkweather, her social worker. Her very grumpy social worker.

"You're going to a new foster family today, or did you forget?" Clary swore under her breath. Of course! How incredibly stupid of her not to remember.

"Right. Just give me one sec, OK? I've got to change, and finish packing my stuff." Clary smiled falsely at Hodge.

"Please tell me you packed something! God, Clarissa, we don't have time for this stuff!" Hodge looked at his watch, then glared at her. "Be done in fifteen minutes, or I'll drag you out of here regardless of what you're wearing, or what you've decided to _remember_ putting in your bag."

"Yeesh, no need to get so angry. I'll be done in ten." Clary turned around, and slammed the door in Hodge's face.

.o.O.o.

Clary was done packing in less than five minutes. The only things she hadn't packed yesterday were her pencils and her sketchbook. She quickly changed into a dark blue sweatshirt, a pair of black jeans, and her white Converse. After brushing her tangled mess of hair she was done, not bothering with makeup. What did she care about looking good in front of her "new family"? Clary glanced at her reflection in the mirror. A petite redhead with piercing green eyes looked back at her. The girl had fair skin, and a light sprinkle of freckles dotted her cheeks and nose. She frowned. _I am not beautiful_, she thought to herself. _There is nothing special about me. No wonder my family didn't want anything to do with me._

Clary looked around her room one last time, her eyes scanning over the few items of furniture that inhabited it. The old, wooden desk, the green chair standing next to it, the bed that was now stripped bare of its light blue sheets that had matched the walls perfectly.

"Goodbye," she whispered softly, before grabbing her bags and striding out of the apartment.

~lalalalalåöäöåöakölkms~

Hodge was standing next to his silver Volvo when Clary came out the entrance, impatiently tapping his foot and fiddling with his gray business suit.

"You're on time, Ms Fairchild. For once."

Clary scowled at his use of the name.

"I am not _Ms Fairchild_ anymore. Nor am I Ms Morgenstern. I am Clary _Fray. _Not anything else. Got it?" she asked, glaring fiercely at Hodge while she hoisted her bags into the trunk of the car. Hodge smirked.

"_Of course,_" he answered smoothly. "Now get in the car. It's a six hour drive to Idris."

_Idris, _Clary thought, _I've never heard of that place before._

"Not many people have heard of it," Hodge said, as if he'd read her mind. "But it's a nice town, and the Lightwoods will take good care of you. They've already got one foster child, or, well, adoptive son now. They adopted him almost a year ago, last fall. He's about your age, actually. Two nice kids, too. Alec and Isabelle." He slammed the car door shut, and got into the driver's seat.

Clary had begun contemplating whether or not she should just flip him off around the time he started going on about "the Lightwoods "(who sounded absolutely _delightful, _note the heavy sarcasm), and was now seriously considering strangling him so he would just shut up. Thankfully, he noticed her expression, and started the car without another word.

_Approximately six hours later :P_

"Clary. Clary _wake up,_" Hodge said in her ear, shaking her softly. "Clary, we're here. You've got to come out and meet your new family."

Clary blinked a few times to adjust to the light, and yawned. She undid her seatbelt and opened the car door, turning a little red when she realized she'd fallen asleep all over the backseat.

"I'm up now. In case you didn't notice," she said with a faint smirk to cover up her embarrassment.

"Hard not to. You were snoring quite loudly, you know," he replied drily. "In any case, the Lightwoods are waiting for us in their driveway, which is approximately twenty feet away (**A/N : Seriously, I have no idea how long this is! I'm aiming for about 10-15 meters… I also can't remember what Maryse and Robert look like. Yeah, I'm that Goode)**. So I suggest you get going. They're starting to look a bit, ah, _amused,_ at our little conversation. Especially the blonde one."

Clary heard a loud laugh coming from behind her, and turned around. She stopped in her tracks. A whole family stood in front of her, watching her with very bemused facial expressions indeed. There were two older people, who she assumed were the parents - a black haired and blue eyed woman, and a brown haired brown eyed man - a tall, good-looking boy with black hair and blue eyes, and a girl who Clary assumed to be his sister, with the same hair color but she had black eyes instead of blue, and the longest legs Clary had ever seen. She was very beautiful altogether, and Clary instantly felt her self-confidence shrink to the size of a pea. But they weren't the ones who'd made her freeze.

No, it was the golden-haired boy standing a bit to the left, leaning against the porch railing that caught her eye. He had a teasing twinkle in his eyes, which were the color of liquid gold, almost exactly the same shade as his hair. She found all of him to be very, well, in lack of a better word, _golden, _actually. His skin was tan, and he was wearing a white t-shirt that showed off his well rounded biceps. Clary had no doubt he'd spent many hours in the gym to acquire those, and in a moment of weakness felt an urge to reach out and run her hands over that piece of golden perfection… _Pull yourself together, Clary_ _, _she scolded herself, _this is no time to be drooling over the extremely hot guy standing a few feet away_

As if he could see exactly what she was thinking, the boy's smile widened into a grin, and he opened his mouth to speak, when a voice to the right interrupted him.

"Hi! You must be Clary! I'm Maryse, this is my husband Robert, and my children Alec, Isabelle and Jace," the woman, _Maryse_, pointed to each of her family members in turn, and Clary nodded. The golden boy's name was Jace. Why did his name have to be so incredibly s –

"Hello? You gonna say something? Or are you just going to stand there with your mouth hanging open? I know I'm hot, but really, it's rude to stare." Clary looked at the person who just spoke, who happened to be Jace. She felt her earlier impression (which was that he looked like a greek god) give away to a new revelation: he seemed like an arrogant, cocky asshole with a _way_ too high opinion of himself.

Clary was just about to answer when the black-haired beauty, Isabelle, stepped forward.

"Oh, just ignore him. Clary is it? Well, I'm Isabelle, as mom already told you," Isabelle grinned at Clary, who actually managed to respond this time with a well formulated

"Hi."


	2. Meeting the Lightwoods

**I don't own anything! Everything belongsto Cassandra Clare!**

* * *

Clary instantly blushed at the stupidity of the word she just uttered. Really, the best she could come up with was _hi_? Why, oh why, couldn't she have said something smarter like, well, _anything other than hi? _

"Izzy's right, just ignore him," Maryse said, "he's always like that. Ever since he got here a couple years ago, he's been almost insufferable. But we all love him anyway!" The Lightwoods all laughed, except for Jace, who just stood there, smirking at Clary.

Clary heard a loud thump coming from behind her, and noticed that Hodge was done unloading her bags from the trunk, and was now standing awkwardly next to them. Clary ran forward and put her arms around him, making him take a few steps backward in surprise.

"Bye Hodge, I'm gonna miss you! Even though you're a real pain in my ass sometimes, you feel more like a dad to me than anyone else in the world right now." Hodge looked slightly embarrassed, and met Robert's eyes briefly.

"Well, I'll miss you too, Clary, but I've got to go. Your bags are all here, and the Lightwoods will show you around the neighborhood and enroll you at the local high school, OK? You're going to have a great time living here, I promise." Hodge let go of Clary and nodded at the Maryse and Robert.

"If you ever come back to NYC, give me a call. Goodbye, Ms Fray," he said with a small smile before going back into his car and driving away.

_Well, that's that,_ Clary thought sadly before turning back to the Lightwoods, who were now staring quietly at her. Clary took a moment to look at her surroundings for the first time.

She was standing in front of a big, white house, surrounded by a huge lawn. There was a grayish-white garage connected to the house, and Clary estimated it to hold about four to five cars, none of which were visible at the moment. Several similar buildings lined the street, except that the others were different colors. Behind those there was a small forest, with a bunch of trees that Clary didn't recognize, other than the few maples and pines. Their leaves were starting to turn red, and it was, in a word, beautiful.

_I could paint this, _Clary realized with a start. The trees, green with small specks of red, the blue sky, the gardens with large assortment of bushes that Clary was willing to bet bloomed in the spring or summer. The suburban dream. She smiled to herself. It was almost the exact opposite of her previous home, but she wasn't all sure whether she disliked it or not. She decided that change wasn't always a bad thing.

Alec, the boy with piercing blue eyes, cleared his throat.

"Well, if you're done doing, er, whatever it is you're doing, I could show you your room," Alec said

.o.O.o.

"So here's the living room," Alec said, then pointed toward the marble staircase. "Just go up the stairs and to the left, and there's your room."

Clary looked to where he was pointing, then back again.

"Thank you, Alec, I think I've got it. I'll just go get my bags, then." Clary was eager to be alone, without the stares of her new foster family burning into her back.

"No, that's okay, Robert already brought them," Alec explained with a polite smile. He walked up the stairs, took a right, and disappeared without a word.

"Okay, then…" Clary said under her breath, and went to check out her new room.

"Whoa." Clary explained after stepping into the bedroom she was now going to live in.

It was big, like bigger-than-her-whole-apartment-in-Brooklyn big. The walls were a soft yellow, and the majority of the floor was covered in a fluffy white carpet. Maybe not the most practical, but Clary couldn't help the squeal of excitement that escaped her lips when her feet sank into the soft, soft "floor".

She took in the queen-sized bed, covered in a dozen baby pink pillows, not her favorite color, but she really didn't care, the wooden bookshelf, a matching desk with one of those chairs that spin around. Clary sat down and started spinning round, and round until she was dizzy. She laughed and threw herself down onto the bed, sighing with contentment.

She hadn't seen something like this since… no, she didn't want to think about it. Suddenly her carefree demeanor was gone, replaced with a consuming emptiness. Slowly, she stood up and got her sketchbook and pencils out of her smallest bag (they had all been in a corner of the room, just like Alec promised), and headed back to the desk.

The desk, and the bookshelf, were for safety reasons – they would probably fall over or something – placed on the wooden floor, so Clary could roll the chair (It had wheels!) back and forth between one side of the (huge) desk to the other. She did that for awhile, as she held her sketchbook gingerly, waiting for inspiration to strike. Involuntarily, her mind slipped toward the golden haired boy walking around somewhere in the house. She put down her sketchbook on the desk, and her hands started to move on the paper as if they had a life of their own.

Clary was so into her sketching that she didn't even notice the boy standing in her doorstep, watching her with golden eyes.

Jace slipped out of the room as quietly as he'd come.

.o.O.o.

A soft knock brought Clary out of her zen-like state. Maryse was standing in the doorway, looking at Clary with knowing eyes.

"Are you settling in okay?" Maryse asked, taking a few steps into the room. "I didn't know what style you liked, so I just chose some basic things, I guess. Do you like it?" She gestured around her as she talked, sitting down on Clary's bed as she did so.

Clary blinked. She wasn't used to people being so . . . nice. Alec had been okay, but that had seemed strained and awkward, Maryse just seemed like a mom. A real mom, not the kind Jocelyn had been. _Stop it, Clary! Nothing good comes from thinking about that._

"I love it. It's perfect, really," said Clary and smiled tentatively. "Sorry for being such a bother," she added, not sure whether it was the right thing to say, but she just felt like she was invading their home.

"Oh, no, you're not a bother at all. I'm just glad you like it." Maryse seemed genuinely caring, and Clary couldn't help but love her a little for it.

"Anyway, I just came to tell you dinner is ready. You don't have to come down, but I think you could really use some food. It must have been a long day." Maryse stood up, and looked back at Clary. "I know it's hard for you. A new family, a new neighborhood, a new life. But it'll get better. I promise."

With those words, Maryse walked out of the room and shut the door.

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who read this! I love you all... :P I'm going to try updating as often as I can, because when I get home I won't be able to write a lot anymore... Thank you again, you made my day :)**

**Oh, and I'm from Sweden, but right now I'm in Aruba with my family (including my very annoying older sister who keeps hogging the WiFi network) :)  
**


	3. Midnight encounters

Chapter 3

A/N: I know that the last chapter was really sucky, and I've tried to make up for it here (key word: tried). I really need info about american high schools, how they "work", what subjects you have, ho long recess is, etc, so please post a review or PM me about it, I'm kinda desperate! Anyways, on to the story ;)

Clary lay (A/N: lied?) in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She couldn't sleep, and she had a feeling thinking about something that agitated her wouldn't help, not this time. Sighing, she rolled over – again – and hit her pillow with her fist a few times, just in case that would help her fall asleep. But no such luck.

An hour later, Clary was still awake, and she was having hard time breathing. Somehow, her whole situation had crashed down on her, and she was panicking.

Clary was going to _live_ with these people, for _two years,_ in this suffocating neighborhood that was so damn perfect. Clary couldn't handle perfect. Not since her "family" had thrown her out, discarding her like last night's trash. Clary suddenly felt as if the walls were closing in on her, and she kicked desperately at the sheets, but only managed to tangle them further around her legs.

She had to get out.

Clary tried to jump out of bed, but landed in a heap on the floor. She stood up, and almost fell over again, but she had miraculously managed to untangle her body from the bedspread. She rushed blindly out of her room, very nearly tripping over her own feet on the way down the stairs, looking for the door outside. Finally, after frantically searching every corner of the massive house (once, she almost fell over on a sleeping Isabelle), she found it. Clary opened the door with a huge exhalation of breath, and went through it to the garden, shutting it softly behind her.

Clary tip-toed through the damp grass, absentmindedly wishing she'd brought a coat, or at least something warmer than the camisole and flannel pajama pants she was wearing now.

After a few minutes of wandering around, Clary found an old swing set. Strange, given that all the Lightwood children were teenagers, but she didn't think much about it. Instead, she sat down, and took a few deep breaths. Going outside had really calmed her, but her head was still spinning.

Why did this happen to her? When she was a small girl, Clary was just like everybody else. Her parents had loved her, she'd had a big brother who took care of her. But then, everything changed. Her family started to ignore her, only acknowledging her presence when it was absolutely required. Clary had gotten so lonely - she'd never been good at making friends, and now that her family barely looked at her anymore, it was all she could do not to end her life. End it just to escape the aching emptiness that had taken over her world.

Whenever Clary asked her parents or brother why they were doing this to her, they just turned away without a word, leaving a sad and confused girl behind them, green eyes shining with unshed tears.

It continued like that until she was 14 years old. Clary got home from school one day to find all her things stuffed into a dozen old bags on the perfectly manicured lawn. Her so-called family was standing next to them, telling her what a disappointment she was, how she was neither smart nor beautiful, how she was a burden they no longer wished to bear. With no recognizable talent, she was just an average girl, and they had no room for average in their perfect little lives. Then they went inside their grand house, shutting the door on their daughter forever.

Clary didn't get it, not then. What kind of people would exile on of their own kin just because they weren't geniuses, or had the looks of a future miss America? But she figured out the answer long ago. Her family. Her cruel, stuck-up, fucking moronic family.

Clary wasn't aware that she was crying until the tears were flowing freely down her cheeks. _Stupid, _she told herself. _This is exactly why they threw you out. Because you're weak. Weak and pathetic. _

The tears were coming faster now, and she released an anguished sob. Why now? She hadn't thought about her family for years, always taking great care never to open that door again. The pain was too great, but not always because of what they did to her, but because she feared her family had been right. She was just a silly girl, after all. If her own blood couldn't stand to be near her, how could anybody else? If Maryse knew how Clary really was, surely she wouldn't care about her anymore. Not even Simon, her ex-best friend, had stayed with her longer than a few months.

Clary didn't notice the sound of approaching footsteps until she felt the pressure of a warm hand on her shoulder. She looked up, and her eyes widened in surprise.

"W-what are you doing out here?" she asked, frantically trying to dry her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.

"You tell me," answered Jace, a faint trace of amusement in his voice. "I was just taking some fresh air, and all of a sudden I heard the sound of someone crying. Are you okay?" Jace removed his hand from her shoulder to sit down at the swing next to hers.

"Taking some air? At 3 am? And I'm fine, thanks for asking," Clary said, embarrassed that he'd caught her.

Jace laughed softly.

"You don't seem fine to me."

"And _you_ didn't answer my question. What are you doing outside at three in the morning, except for hitting on poor unsuspecting girls?" Clary turned toward Jace and glared at him, a wasted effort considering the fact that he probably couldn't see it in the weak light the half-moon provided.

Jace scoffed. "As if. And as for your question, I was doing exactly what I said. Taking some air. Couldn't sleep, and figured I might as well do something productive." His mouth curled up at the ends – at least Clary thought it did, she couldn't be sure, since the sun hadn't magically made an appearance in the last few seconds.

"And I assume this counts as productive?" Clary swore she could _feel_ him smirking.

"Absolutely. And stop changing the subject. Why were you crying?" His voice took on a concerned note, and Clary wondered why. She'd only known him for about 5 hours, and he'd spent most of that time acting like a complete douche bag.

"Maybe I was mourning the fact that I'll have to spend the next two years of my life living in close proximity to you." She figured insulting him was the best way to get him away from her; she didn't want him to know about her family. He'd immediately dismiss her as a failure, and for some reason unbeknownst to her, Clary wanted him to stay. She felt a connection to this boy, even though she'd only known him for a few hours.

"You wound me. Most girls would give anything to live in the same house as this." Jace gestured up and down his body and grinned at her. Clary didn't need light to see it; his light seemed to illuminate the darkness around him, as if he glowed. Clary couldn't look away.

Shaking her head slightly to get rid of the strange feeling, she coughed and said (A/N: What are you supposed to do there? I'll just guess…) "Well I'm not most girls, now am I?"

"No. You're not," Jace mumbled, before he stood up and went back inside, leaving a confused Clary to mull over what just happened.

**PLEASE READ THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE! IMPORTANT (KIND OF) The first little section-thingy is just a little thank you thingy, but please read the 2****nd**** one (and the first, if you're up for it)**

**A/N: Hi again! Thank you so much to everyone who read this, especially those of you who favorite, followed, or reviewed! I get so happy every time I see a new follower, favorite, or review… if you looked through my window you may or may not see a crazy redhead jumping up and down squealing like she just found out Hush,hush was becoming a movie (cue another session of the aforementioned behavior).**

**Anyway, I think the next chapter's going to be the first day of school, and since I have absolutely no idea how American high schools work, please review or PM me as much info as you have! What classes do you have? What, exactly, is a period (school period, that is. I am disturbingly well acquainted with the other kind)? How long are they? Do you actually have the same classes every day? In that case, isn't it boring? Please give me info,I'm shooting in the dark here…**

**Crazy person – aka DeUtvalda (btw, has anyone read The Circle? It's awesome! I can't wait for the 3****rd**** book, Nyckeln, to come out this year ****)**


	4. Finding Jace

**A/N: Hi again! A big thank you to everyone who read, favorited, followed or reviewed this story :) You make me so happy :D A HUGE thank you to everyone who reviewed information about American high school, particularly Lexia Clark, who PMed me a bunch of "intel" about high school (or the cement prison, apparently). My sister was hogging the WiFi again, so it's probably going to be a couple chapters until I write about it, I couldn't get into FF :( But I could write, so here's another chapter :)**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns everything :'(**

* * *

Clary knew she shouldn't have done it.

She knew how stupid it was of her to try.

But she did anyway.

Slowly, she made her way toward the room she believed to be Jace's.

The only one that had been devoid of people during her search for the front door earlier that morning (Except for a few tiny cupboards, and one with a bed shaped like a racecar. She knew that because she had, very conveniently, tripped on it and almost hit the wall with her face.).

She opened the door to his room quietly, and slipped in without a word.

It was almost identical to her own, except that his floor wasn't covered by a plush carpet, his bed wasn't adorned with fluffy pillows. The walls were white, as was almost everything else, except for a few things like the wooden desk, or the blue-striped curtains hanging in front of the window, allowing a few rays of sunlight to escape into the room. It was all so . . . _clean,_ Clary noted with a start. She'd expected it to have clothes flung carelessly over the floor and furniture, maybe a few schoolbooks strewn across the desk. But that was not the case at all.

Everything was perfectly in order, barely a single fleck of dust to be found no matter how hard she looked. The schoolbooks were there, sure, but they were stacked neatly on the bedside table. Clary couldn't see any kind of personal knick-knacks, either, no photo frames or dog-eared novels. It was weird, and frankly, it kind of freaked Clary out.

"What the hell?" a surprised voice exclaimed from behind her. Clary turned around, and sure enough, behind her stood Jace, golden eyes wide with shock and anger. "What are you doing in my room?"

Clary's throat seemed to have closed up, and she looked down at her feet, cheeks burning.

"I-I was j-just looking for . . . Isabelle. . ." she stammered uncertainly, and fiddled with the grey t-shirt she'd pulled on in a hurry before she started her search for Jace. Who didn't seem to believe a word of what she had just said.

"Really? And when you didn't find her in here, you decided to stay for a while, have a look around?"

Jace seemed furious now, and Clary didn't understand why. Sure, she wouldn't be happy, either, if she'd have found Jace in her room, but she wouldn't be enraged.

"Overreact much? I was just lost," Clary said and glared at Jace. "Stop acting like such a girl."

"Well stop snooping around where you're not welcome. Just because I talked to you earlier doesn't mean I give a shit. And it definitely doesn't mean you can come into my room whenever you feel like it." Jace grabbed her shoulders and steered her toward the doorway. "Get out. I don't want to find you in here again, got it?" He threw another murderous look her way and slammed the door.

Clary was at loss. Why was he acting like this? She only wanted to talk to him, not that she'd told him that or anything, but still. Just because he thought he was all that didn't mean he could act like a complete asshole just because someone was in his room.

Clary didn't know why she cared what he did. After all, she'd only known him since yesterday. And it _had_ been pretty stupid of her to go over to his room just because he seemed like an OK guy a few hours earlier. But that still didn't give him the right to treat her like . . . like her old family had.

She sighed and stomped through the long halls back to her room.

.o.O.o.

JPOV

Jace lay in his bed, arms crossed facing the ceiling. He hadn't meant to be such a dick to Clary, wait, no, scratch that, he _had _meant to be an asshole but he regretted it nonetheless. Even though it was necessary, he still felt like crap.

But she couldn't get close to him. She couldn't start . . . _caring_ about him. Girls who cared about Jace ended up with a broken heart. And for some reason, Jace didn't want that. Not for her. Which was strange, since he'd talked to her about two times; four if you counted dinner and his snide comments when she'd first arrived.

Jace sighed. What was it about this girl? Why did she make him feel like he wanted to be different, better? With her fiery red hair and piercing green eyes she was pretty, sure, but nothing like the girls he'd usually date. The tall, curvy sluts in skimpy clothing, the ones he'd get to fuck, no questions asked. The ones that guys usually referred to as "hot", or the like.

But Clary . . . Clary was beautiful, and she was nothing like any other girl he'd ever met. When he'd stumbled across her drawing in her room, brows furrowed in concentration, her small hands dancing across the paper creating a trail of magic in their wake, he'd felt… mesmerized. He couldn't look away. And when he'd found her crying in the back yard, he would have done anything, just to keep the tears away from her face.

_Why are you acting like such a girl? You've known her for less than a day, you can't possibly feel something for her. You're Jace __Wayland __Lightwood, for god's sake! You can have any girl you want, and you want them for one reason and one reason only. Then you dump them. Get a grip, man._

This mental chastisement continued for awhile, and Jace felt his walls, the ones that Clary had unconsciously started to break down, come back up. He was Jace Lightwood. Notorious player. Who did not care about anyone outside of his small family. Who _definitely_ didn't care about Clary.

"Breakfast!" Maryse shouted from the kitchen. Jace promptly ignored her, rolling over to assume his usual sleeping position, his left cheek smashed against the pillow, covers tangled hopelessly around his legs, which were bent at an odd angle. His arms were sprawled across the bed, and he slightly resembled someone who had broken just about every bone in their body.

Bliss…

**A/N: Hi again :P just wanted to say sorry for this chapter being so bad, and for putting off HS. An btw, it is now sunday (in the story), just so you know...**

**I love you all :)**


	5. Glitter and pink hair

Chapter 5

**A/N: So, this is basically just a filler chapter. I started writing it, so I figured I'd better finish it :P It's mostly just dialogue, and it's not really important to the plot, so you can skip it if you like :) It does introduce Magnus, though not in person, they just talk about him :P **

**I'm going home in two days, so the next chapter is probably the last for a while :( *Sob* Hehe, sorr, I just have a lot on my plate in school, I'm taking two (one normal, one really hard) math classes, and I have to get a good grade (A's are practically imposiible to get in Sweded, so I'm hoping for a B :P) on this really important test to continue with the hard one, which I love, it's so much fun since we're just 4 people :P So I'm gonna have to study really hard, and not having my own computer kind of makes it hard to write since I hate my family reading this (they don't, fortunately, but my mom really likes to snoop around so it's only a matter of time before she starts teasing me about this, and it's not gonna be pretty). Yeah. Anyway, thank you so freakin much for reading, I love you, and I love everyone who follows, favorite's or reviews this story even more. And those of you who just check for updates, cuz that means you like my story and that makes me reeeally happy xD. I'm random.**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare (who is not me) owns the Mortal Instruments, and simultaneously, this. *Sob***

"So, Clary," Maryse while flipping over a pancake. They were standing in the kitchen, and Clary was helping Maryse make breakfast because, Maryse said, Isabelle had the cooking skills resembling those of a pyromaniac. Meaning everything she touched while attempting to cook miraculously ended up on fire. The few times it didn't, it tasted like the green mush oompa-loompas in Loompaland eat (Clary may or may not have added that last part). Clary stood right next to Maryse, frying bacon. It was now 9 am, and it had been an hour since Clary saw Jace. "Tomorrow's your first day of school. Are you excited?"

Clary rolled her eyes. She had gotten lucky and arrived on a Saturday, meaning she got a day's rest before the torture began. "Yeah. It's gonna be the best day of my life," she answered sarcastically. The only subject she actually enjoyed was art, but it didn't make up for all the other classes, like chemistry, or, god forbid, _math._ (A/N: Sorry if I offended those of you who believe in god! I'm not really sure what the protocol is when it comes to stuff like that, believers in Sweden are pretty rare so I'm not sure what counts as, em, "insulting" god/those who believe in him/her. Sorry for this author's note as well…).

Maryse let out a small laugh. "I bet it will. Alec and Isabelle can probably show you around, if you'd like." Clary didn't miss the fact that Maryse left out Jace's name, and she wondered why.

"What about Jace?"

Maryse looked uncomfortable. "Well, he's not always the most helpful, so I wouldn't count on him to do anything." She didn't say anything else, instead she finished the last pancake and shouted "Breakfast!" When no-one answered Maryse sighed, and went to wake everyone up.

Clary fried the last of the bacon and put it on a plate before carrying it the 10 feet to the big walnut table. She figured she might as well set the table when she was at it, so she went through the kitchen cabinets trying to find everything she needed, before getting some orange juice from the fridge.

When Maryse got back, Robert and Alec in tow, Clary was done, and had sat down on one of the eight chairs. "I set the table. I hope that's okay," said Clary and smiled at Maryse, who returned it easily.

"Of course it's okay! Thank you, Clary. Now I don't have to make Alec and Izzy do it," Maryse joked, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes. "Where is Izzy, anyway? And why isn't Jace up yet? I thought I told him to come down for breakfast."

"I'll do it," said Alec, his expression matching the one Maryse had on earlier.

"No, Alec, it's fi –"

"Jace! Izzy! Get your asses down here or I'll do that thing with Izzy's lipstick again, and you know how that – "he started to shout, but a loud voice coming from upstairs interrupted him.

"Don't you dare, Alexander!" Isabelle screamed furiously, and Clary could already hear her angry footsteps coming down the stairs. Alec just laughed and sat down next to Clary. Maryse and Robert had already started eating, even though Isabelle and Jace weren't there yet.

"Listen to your sister, Alec," a joking voice said, and mere seconds later Jace popped up in the doorway, a huge grin lighting up his face. "You wouldn't want me to call Magnus again, would you? You know what happened last time." Clary looked down at the table. She was still mad about this morning, but she was more embarrassed than anything.

Alec blushed, and glared at his adoptive brother. "You wouldn't. It took _weeks_ to get all the glitter out of my room, and my hair was pink for a month!"

"Aww, you know you love it, _Alexander._" Alec's face turned impossibly redder, and suddenly the pancake he'd put on his plate seemed very interesting.

Clary was confused. Who was Magnus? And where did all the talk about glitter and pink hair come from?

"Hey, who's Magnus?" she asked looking back and forth between Jace and Alec.

Jace grinned again, and said "He's Alec's b – "

"My _friend._" Alec interrupted, casting a meaningful look at Jace, who shrugged and sat down, helping himself to some of the bacon.

Clary wasn't the brightest, far from it, but even she could connect the dots. She turned to Alec.

"You have a boyfriend?" she whispered, green eyes alight with excitement. "When can I meet him?"

"Shh," Alec hissed. "Not so loud."

"Maryse and Robert don't know?" Clary was surprised. Maryse didn't seem like one to judge, and neither did Robert.

"Oh, they know alright." Jace leaned in conspiratorially from across the table. "Magnus is pretty hard to forget. Alec here is just a little embarrassed." He stretched even further and patted Alec's shoulder jokingly.

"Jace!" Maryse exclaimed sharply. "Get back in your chair this instant. You're going to flip the table over if you come any closer to Alec." Jace looked disappointed, but complied.

"Aww, you're no fun," he pouted.

"Well, neither is food all over the floor. Especially not for you, since I'd make you clean it up."

"Oh, please do," Isabelle said. She was sitting between Maryse and Jace, directly across from Robert, who in turn was right next to Clary.

Jace looked stricken. "Where the hell did you come from?" he asked, receiving several nods of agreement from the rest of the table.

"Are you serious? _None _of you noticed I sat down?"

Clary shook her head no, and saw everyone except for Robert do the same.

"Oh, I noticed. I was going to say something, but you seemed to busy with your little conversation," he said with a shrug. "She's been sitting there since you started talking about Alec and Magnus's relationship."

Alec, who had just started to take a big gulp of the orange juice Clary had gotten earlier, started to cough, and sprayed juice all over the table.

"Eeww, Alec, _gross!_" Isabelle squealed, attempting to protect her (designer) clothes from Alec's unintentional attack. "I can't believe you spit _juice_ on my shirt! I just bought it!" She glared at her brother, then at Jace, then Clary. "It's _your_ fault. If you hadn't gotten all hung up on Magnus, Alec wouldn't have choked on his juice!" Isabelle stood up and stomped angrily to her room.

"O_kay," _Clary said uncertainly.

"Yeah," agreed Jace. An awkward moment passed between the two of them. They hadn't spoken directly to one another since the "incident", except for when Jace was teasing Alec, but that didn't count.

Jace cleared his throat. "Well, this has been fun, but I have to go. The female population of Idris is eagerly awaiting my arrival, and who can blame them? Everyone needs something pretty to look at, and what's better than this?" Once again, Jace gestured toward his body. "Although the word 'pretty' is much too small to describe me. 'Unbelievably hot' or 'godlike' is more like it." He flashed his trademark smirk before he, too, got up and left, his plate still lying on the table. Completely empty. Damn, that boy ate fast.


	6. Izzy's barbie

Chapter 6

**The next chapter's gonna be high school, but just a teensy bit... you'll see what I mean :P This chapter is probably very horrible, but alas, I have no butterknifes nor any Peters to stick them into my eyes, so you'll just have to kill me in the little review thingy if it's too horrible... yeah. I'm random. And remember: I love you all!  
**

**Disclaimer: Again, Cassandra Clare owns the Mortal Instruments, this, and me. Just kidding. She doesn't own me.  
**

_We don't want you._

_You're disgusting._

_Ugly._

_Stupid._

_Pathetic._

_Worthless. _

_Clary . . . Clary wake up..._

Clary bolted upright. She had been dreaming of her family, who had somehow morphed into the Lightwoods. They had surrounded her, whispering insults, spitting at her feet, telling her how completely useless she was. They'd thrown her out, left her. Just like everyone else had.

That's when she realized someone had their hands on her shoulders, shaking her lightly. She screamed. Who the _hell_ was in her room?

"Clary? Clary are you alright?" a hushed voice whispered in the darkness. Isabelle. Clary breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't Jonathan, or anyone equally terrifying.

"I'm fine, I just got a fright. I wasn't exactly prepared for a complete stranger to march into my room while I was sleeping. Not that you're a complete stranger, I just thought . . . you know." Clary removed Isabelle's hands and sung her legs out from under the covers, her flannel pajama pants and camisole keeping her warm enough for the time being. "Been watching too many horror movies," she added lamely. A new thought struck her.

"What are you doing in my room, anyway?"

Isabelle moved her right hand to the lamp sitting on the bedside table, and flipped the light switch.

"It's your first day of school here in Idris. I came in to make sure you look good, because frankly, it takes a bit more than jeans and a t-shirt to make a good impression. But you were thrashing and moaning in your sleep, so I figured I'd better wake you up." Isabelle cocked her head sideways and looked curiously at Clary. "What were you dreaming about?"

Clary fiddled with the lamp cord. Did she want to tell Isabelle about her family? She knew it wasn't as horrible as she made herself believe it was, but that didn't make the pain go away. Sure, she wasn't starving, her parents didn't abuse her, they didn't drink.

They weren't there at all.

Even though her situation was, in a word, fine, Clary wasn't. Surely, if she were okay, if there was nothing wrong with her, there wouldn't be a gaping hole where her family used to be.

A hole that this new home had begun to fix. The seams were not as ripped anymore, the threads that were Maryse, Robert, Alec and Isabelle were slowly mending them.

And then there was Jace.

Jace, the beautiful boy with the beautiful smile. The boy that had talked to her, made her feel better when she cried, then yelled and pushed her away. He was still a mystery to her, but she was determined to solve him. To find out who (A/N: whom?) he really was inside of his walls. She'd gotten a glimpse of that boy once, and now Clary wanted nothing more than to see him again.

"Claary? Hello? Are you in there? Earth to Clary?" Isabelle waved her hands in front of Clary's face.

"What?" Clary asked, surprised.

"You kinda spaced out there for a moment. You okay?" Isabelle asked, her black eyes watching Clary intently.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. What was that about good impression? Jeans and t-shirts?" Clary looked horrified as a new thought dawned on her. "You're not going to give me a makeover, are you?"

Clary really hated makeovers, and since she'd spent the previous day drawing and chatting offhandedly with Maryse and Robert, so she didn't know enough about Isabelle to know what her opinion was on the subject.

But, judging by the look in her eyes, it wasn't good.

"Oh, yes I am. You didn't actually expect me to let you go to school in those clothes you came in, right? I thought you knew me better than that."

"Isabelle, I've known you for a like day and a half. I don't even know your favorite color, let alone whether you care about what I wear." Isabelle looked offended.

"Of course I care what you wear! It's, like, the most important thing _ever_. I can't let my new sister walk around in whatever crappy clothes she'd like. I have a reputation to uphold, you know." Isabelle winked at Clary, then continued "And don't worry, I'm going to make sure you look so good none of the boys will be able to look away."

Clary wasn't convinced. She didn't _want_ people to look at her. She didn't want it to be like her last school, when ever since day one, she'd been subject to the judging looks of her fellow classmates. She had quickly learnt that high school students did not show mercy, not when it came to bullying the new girl, the latest victim, the freak.

"Isabelle – "

"Call me Izzy," Isabelle – Izzy – interrupted.

"Okay, _Izzy_, I really appreciate it, but I'm not sure I _want_ everyone to stare at me. Really, I'd prefer just going in my clothes. Thanks, though." Clary looked hopefully up at Isabelle, whose eyes had narrowed into slits.

"Oh, no, you're not getting out of this," she said, taking hold of Clary's arm with one of her hands and pulling, resulting in Clary almost face planting on the floor. Luckily, she regained her balance and stumbled blindly after Isabelle, who was dragging her over to the bathroom situated directly across from Clary's room. (A/N: I still haven't described the house… sorry! It's just that I don't really have any idea how it looks, except that it's big, and there's a crystal chandelier in the living room :P)

Just before Isabelle went to work, Clary caught sight of a clock hanging beside the bathroom door.

It was 5 am.

.o.O.o.

"There! Done," Isabelle announced proudly.

They – Isabelle and Clary – were standing in Isabelle's room – which was a mess, by the way. Clothes were strewn all over the floor, sparkly heels and leather boots popping up here and there. The black walls looked as if someone had thrown a golden sponge repeatedly against them – which, Izzy had informed Clary, was exactly what had happened. If Clary hadn't known where the bed was (it had been perfectly fine when she came in. Well, not fine. But you could at least see what it was) she'd have thought it was a mountain of sorts. A mountain of accessories, glittery tops and various different makeup articles, that is. A lamp that vaguely resembled a disco ball – with a pair of leather pants on top – hung from the ceiling.

Clary had spent the past two hours being tortured by Isabelle - with strict instructions not to look in the mirror, of course. She almost sagged with relief. _Freedom,_ she thought , and actually considered throwing her arms up in the air and lifting her face toward the sky. Er, ceiling.

"Go on then! Look!" Isabelle grabbed her shoulders lightly and turned her towards (A/N: yeah… I have absolutely no idea when to say toward, and when to say towards. So, sorry if I did it wrong) the huge mirror that covered almost an entire wall.

Clary looked, and barely recognized the person standing before her (cliché, I know).

Sure, they were both short and had the same red hair, but the similarities ended there.

The girl in the mirror had rosy cheeks and porcelain skin, framed by fiery red locks falling to the middle of her ribcage. She had a thin coat of black mascara over her eyelashes, making her eyes look bigger. Eyeliner and a tiny amount of smoky eye shadow made the green seem more vivid, so green it almost didn't look natural.

She was wearing skin-tight dark blue jeans with a studded belt (A/N: hehe, I really like studded belts..) and a black tank top, complete with a black leather jacket. At least, Clary noted with a sigh of relief, Izzy had let her wear her own clothes. Well, the leather jacket and the belt wasn't hers, but the rest was.

She was beautiful, Clary realized with a start.

_That's me, and I look . . ._

_I look hot._

Surprising as that was, Clary was even more surprised that she liked it.

"Wow . . . thank you, Izzy," Clary said and grinned up at the other girl, who was wearing a similar outfit. Except that Izzy had a short skirt instead of jeans, and five inch heels instead of the worn black Converse Clary was wearing. The other girl smiled back, and winked.

"Told ya I'd make you look hot," she answered, and her black eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Ready to make a hell of an entrance at the Alicante Institute?"


	7. High School Horrors

Chapter 7

**A/N: So here's the first high school chapter... it's probably going to suck :/ Even though I've gotten tons of information from you guys, it's still pretty hard to picture, especially since I haven't experienced Swedish high school (gymnasium) either :P I feel so small… Anyway, I really tried to make it realistic, but it's pretty hard **** Just so you know, what I'm going to refer to as "the office/the little office thingy/Marianne/the place here new students go to get their schedules" is, well, the little room thingy that I can't remember what it's called but new students go there to get their schedules. I can't check right now, my sister has the WiFi so I can't be on the internet **

**I also attempted to make a school schedule, needless to say, it's not very accurate. Again, I didn't have access to the internet while I wrote this, so I might have gotten the subjects and stuff wrong. This interior of this school is based on how my school looks, because I'm very familiar with it :P Except that my school is yellow concrete (or cement, maybe? Ugh, I have no idea, but it's depressing) and this one is brick ;). Two of the teachers (Jonas Säfsten, Savsten here, and Camilla Ardel) are my actual teachers, same subjects, same classrooms. Although I hate Jonas and he's not my teacher anymore cuz his wife just had a daughter. We used to plot ways to get rid of him ("we'll push him down the stairs so that he gets amnesia and can't speak Spanish anymore!").. :P**

**This chapter is gonna have a lot of random author's notes, just so you know. And I love you. Don't forget :)  
**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare (who, again, is not me) owns this **

The Alicante Institute was a pretty small school, made of red brick with ivy crawling up the walls. The building was surrounded by small trees, except for the side where the road and the parking lot resided. Some students were already entering, while others stayed in the parking lot to spend as much time with their friends as possible.

Clary looked at the school with awe as Jace (who had agreed to drive them all – Clary, Alec, Izzy – today) pulled in to an empty parking space. It was so different from her high school in New York – which had been huge, made of cement, and had metal detectors in the entrance to make sure no-one brought weapons to school, not at all like this brick building that could only be described as picturesque.

Isabelle waved her arm in front of the gaping girl's face.

"Hello? Earth to Clary? We have to get out now, the bell's gonna ring soon."

"Oh," Clary said sheepishly, opened the car door, and stepped out into the cool October air.

"Sorry," she added when everyone was out of the car. "This school just looks so different from my old one in New York. It's so . . ." she searched for the right word.

"Ugly? So tiny and crappy you could crush it under your shoe?" Jace offered helpfully. "Or is it just that everything pales in comparison to that who is Jace Lightwood?"

Alec snorted.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's it, Jace. More like your ego is so big everything else _shrinks_ in comparison." Alec smirked, and Jace pretended to look offended.

As they continued their easy banter, Clary and Isabelle made their way to the "little office thingy" to pick up Clary's new schedule. Isabelle led the way, and while Clary followed she couldn't help but think back to the Lightwoods reaction when she and Isabelle came down the stairs earlier this morning. Or, rather, Jace's reaction. Clary smirked a little at the memory.

_It was an hour until school started, and the two girls had just begun making their way down the stairs to the living room. Izzy said something funny and Clary laughed loudly. They entered the living room, and took a left to get into the kitchen. Isabelle went first, gesturing for Clary to be silent and stand behind her, where the rest of the family wouldn't see her._

_Isabelle cleared her throat._

"_Hey,izzy! Where's Clary?" Alec asked, searching the part of the living room he could actually see for Clary's red hair._

"_That's why I'm standing here like an idiot instead of sitting down, Alec. Now shut it for a moment. May I present: The new and improved Clary Fray!"_

_Clary blushed and stepped into the doorway. She heard a strange noise from the right, and turned her head towards it._

_Jace was standing with his mouth hanging open, eyes practically bugging out of his head. A milk carton was lying on the floor, and the white liquid was quickly pouring out of it. _That's_ what the sound was, Clary realized. She met his eyes, and smiled suggestively._

"_See something you like?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him. Alec and Isabelle snickered. "And close your mouth, you don't wanna catch flies, do you?"_

_He quickly pressed his lips together, and looked away._

"_Eh, I guess I'd better clean this up," he said awkwardly. Alec and Izzy gave another synchronized laugh._

"Clary! Clary, I got your schedule." Isabelle waved the paper in front of Clary's face. "You have 1st, 2nd and 5th period with me, that's (A/N: here comes proof of my extreme knowledge..) history, math and biology. You won't be having any classes with Alec and Jace, since Alec's a senior and Jace is a junior. Then you have – "

"Izzy," Clary interrupted, "I think I can look at it myself, you don't have to read it to me."

Isabelle mock sniffed, and said "Well, _excuse_ me if I'm trying to help!"

The two of them burst into uncontrollable laughter.

.o.O.o.

**1st period: History, Mrs. Herondale, 61**

**2****nd**** period: English, Mr. Anderson, 25**

**3****rd**** period: Spanish, Mr. Savsten, 43**

**Lunch**

**4****th ****period: Math, Mr. Garroway, 25**

**5****th**** period: Biology, Mrs. Smith, 54**

**6****th**** period: Art, Mrs. Ardel, 30**

Clary looked through her schedule again as she stood by her locker. It seemed okay, though she wasn't exactly thrilled to have Spanish, English and math so close together.

Isabelle had explained how it worked at Alicante high before departing to her own locker. The numbers beside the teacher's names were classrooms, and there were 6 (8 if you count the gym) different floors, aka "corridors", 0, 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 and 60. 20, 40 and 60 held classrooms 20-25, 40-45 and 60-65, and all subjects except for arts and crafts, science, home ec, music and PE were taught there. Then there was 0, were you had home ec, needlework, and if you went through a door at the end of the hall, PE. In 10 technology (building electric circuits, and the like) and woodwork. 30 held the cafeteria, art, music, the media room (where you could play chess and other strategic games if your math teacher was especially lenient) and a few ping pong, foosball and pool tables. 50 were the science labs, but you could also have math there. If you were a new student, needed a new schedule or were called up to the principal's office, you went to a room between the teacher's lounge and 54, seated in a corner. It was often referred to as "Marianne's" after the vice principal, who took care of stuff like that.

The corridors, except 50 (which had classrooms on one side and lockers on the other) had windows on one side, and lockers on the other, with a few doors that led to classrooms in between. Two staircases on either side of the 20, 40 and 60 corridors took you between floors, but it was a long way to go if you needed to get from 0 to 60 all the time, so all students hoped for a locker in the 40 corridor, since it was practically in the center of the school.

Clary had gotten lucky, and was no standing at locker number 434 (A/N: the best one ever, just so you know. Cuz it's mine), the first "4" a clear indicator as to which corridor her locker was in (40).

She sighed, and grabbed the books Isabelle had passed on to her earlier, and shut her locker with a bang. She was in a hurry; she was in the far end of the corridor and had to get to 61 in three minutes.

Clary turned around and took a few steps, only to run smack into a hard, solid body, and subsequently dropping all her history books.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. "Shit, shit, _shi –" _She looked up at whoever it was that was probably going to make her late for class, and pulled up short.

"Problem, Red?" Jace asked, and smirked. "You just couldn't resist me, could you?"

Clary glared up at him, before stepping back to pick up her books.

"Just because your ego is too big doesn't mean I willingly run into it. It was in the way," she retorted lamely. What was it with him that made her ability to form coherent sentences mysteriously disappear?

Clary was suddenly aware of their close proximity, and her gaze travelled unconsciously to his full, pink lips.

Jace stepped closer, bracing his hands against the lockers behind them, effectively trapping her against his body.

He leaned forward, until his mouth was right by her ear, and whispered "I think you're going to be late for class."

Then drew back, winked at her, and walked away.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

.o.O.o.

Jace took a few more steps into the woods, and kicked a small rock that happened to be in his way. He was skipping class – _again _– but he didn't care. It didn't matter, anyway. Not to him.

What did matter, on the other hand, was what just happened with Clary. What was he thinking, moving so close, feeling her body flush against his, whispering in her goddamn ear?

_Oh, that's right. You weren't,_ he answered. Great. Now he was having little conversations with himself.

It was just that she'd been so close . . . wearing that damn outfit Izzy had dressed her in, and he'd lost it. All he could think about had been what it would be like to kiss her, how it would feel to press her against the lockers and lower his mouth to hers. Hell, that's what he'd been about to do, before he thought better of it.

But still. He'd _winked_ at her before leaving. Why did he _wink_ at her? It just didn't make any sense.

Except that it did.

He couldn't leave without doing something other than touching her ear lightly with his lips. Not that winking was that big of an achievement, but he knew what it did to the female kind. Most of them, anyway.

But Clary wasn't like most girls. He'd said so himself. And she was definitely not like the girls he dated.

But, god, did he want her.

He'd only known her for – what? Two days? And he already wanted her more than he'd wanted anyone ever before.

_Shit._


	8. Blast from the Past

**A/N: Hi again! Sorry for taking so long to update, I've got a reason, I promise! **

**1. It's hard to write on an airport/airplane**

**2. It's even harder to write when you haven't slept for over 24 hours**

**3. I'm sorry if this chapter is awful, I hate writing on this huge computer where my whole family can see what I'm doing..**

**4. Sorry for this author's note and the short chapter**

**5. THANK YOU FOR READING! Makes me so happy... :)**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns everything.**

* * *

Chapter 8

Clary stood once again by her locker, breathing deeply. She'd just had lunch (the cafeteria served some kind of disgusting glop they called "casserole"), and it was ten minutes until class started. She wasn't thinking about that, though.

No, she was thinking about Jace Lightwood. And what had happened the first time she was there. The feeling of his lips on her ear, his breathing on her neck, his body pressed against hers, sending little electric shocks all over her body.

Clary sighed. No good would come from thinking about it. Whatever madness that had entered Jace's mind during that brief moment, it was surely gone now. He'd made it pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with her Saturday morning. At least not in _that_ way. No guy like him would ever even look twice in her direction, the god-like ones who could get any girl they wanted.

_You don't want him, either,_ she told herself sternly. _He's clearly a player. You'd be used and cast aside. You _don't_ want him._

But then why did she feel like she didn't really believe it?

She looked down at her schedule. _Math, Mr. Garroway. _That name, Garroway, sounded familiar. Clary racked through her brain for a little while, trying to figure out from where she knew it. But it obnoxiously decided to stay just out of reach, so she decided to go to class and ignore it for now. She glanced at her schedule again. _25_. That was pretty close, so she shut the locker door and went calmly down the stairs.

And all the while that name kept nagging at her, like it was something very important, something she really should remember. But none came.

.o.O.o.

Clary walked into the classroom five minutes before the lesson started. She sat down at an empty seat, next to a pretty Asian with brown eyes and shoulder length black hair. The Asian looked up briefly, and smiled.

"Hi. I'm Aline. Are you new here? I haven't seen you before." She asked, her eyes gazing at Clary curiously.

"Yeah, this is my first day," Clary answered, while she put down her books and pencil.

"Oh, right! You're that girl staying with the Lightwoods, aren't you? The foster kid?"

Clary inwardly facepalmed herself. Of course. It was a small town, news probably travelled like lightning. She should've been surprised Aline hadn't recognized her right away. Clary had arrived at the last second at all the other classes, for precisely this reason, even though the teachers had cruelly made her introduce herself in front of the whole class.

"Umm, yeah, I guess," Clary said, feeling a little uncomfortable at this girl's straightforwardness.

"Cool," answered Aline, and grinned at someone behind Clary's back.

"Hey, Helen, this is Clary, the new girl who's living with the Lightwood's," she said to this unidentified person, and Clary turned around to look at whoever Aline was talking to.

She found herself face to face with a good looking blonde (Seriously? Why did all the girls have to be so much prettier than her? Goodbye self-esteem), sporting a pair of gorgeous eyes that couldn't seem to decide whether to be green or blue.

"Hi," Clary said and gave a little wave. Aline stood up and hugged Helen, smiling brightly.

"This is my girlfriend, Helen," she said, pecking Helen, who was blushing furiously, lightly on the lips before going back to her seat.

Clary was surprised. She hadn't pegged Aline for the sort of girl to be a lesbian (not that there's a sort), but on the other hand, she'd only known the girl for about three seconds.

"I'm gonna go sit down now, 'kay?" said Helen, whose cheeks were still dotted a light pink.

Clary decided she liked her, even though she'd just met her. She was glad not to be the only person who blushed whenever someone kissed her, not that she'd ever kissed anyone, but the fact that her face was red for a long time after Jace simply pressed his lips to her ear was probably a good indicator.

"Okay, listen up, class! Thank you. Now, I believe we have a new student here today. Clary Fray, are you here?" the teacher asked, and for the first time, Clary looked to the front of the classroom. A face as familiar to her as the back of her hand stood there, and Clary had to fight back a gasp.

_It can't be,_ she thought, struggling against the shock that was trying to take over her body, but one, small word slipped out of her mouth.

"Luke?"

.o.O.o.

He turned his head towards her, his eyes met hers, and Clary knew.

The last time she'd seen him was the day before she was disowned by her family. He was a good friend of his mother's, but when Clary was 7 – around the time her parents and brother stopped acknowledging her existence – he'd stopped coming around to her house. Clary still used to meet up with him back in California before she was kicked out, but once she left for the orphanage in New York (where she'd lived until she managed to escape at 15) she hadn't seen him since.

She didn't _want_ to see him. He'd known where the orphanage was; he could have visited. She even wrote him a letter with her address in New York City, but he never came. Now, he was just a painful reminder of her past, another person who'd deserted her.

The surprise in his blue eyes was evident, and they widened.

"Clary? Is that really you?"

She was frozen in place. The walls seemed to be closing in on her, and it became hard to breathe.

Suddenly, Clary remembered how to move again, and she stood up quickly, her lower lip quivering slightly.

"Clary I – " Luke began and took a few steps forward.

She held a hand up, signaling him to stop.

"Don't. I don't want to hear your excuses," she said with a sneer, then turned and fled the room, leaving twenty or so confused students wondering what the hell just happened.


	9. Hold me

**A/N: Hi again! Sorry for this chapter being so short, stupid and cliche-y.. :P The song Clary sings is an old Swedish song, it's really beautiful, but Youtube doesn't do it justice :P It's called "En sal på lasarettet", and accorsind to me it's supposed to be kind of slow, with a piano or a little guitar.. yeah, I'm weird, but I really love that song :)**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns everything in all the chapters.**

Clary stormed out of the school, aware of nothing but the anger and betrayal that had taken over her body. How _dare_ he come here, just as her life had started to come together again, and remind her of her past? She knew it wasn't really Luke's fault; he didn't know she was there, and in the true tradition of immature three year olds, he was there first.

But that didn't stop her from wanting to wring his neck.

When the first tears started to fall, Clary had come to her senses – at least a little. She slowed her pace, and took the moment to look around.

She was standing in the woods behind the school, completely surrounded by pines, oaks, maples, and God knew what other trees. Specks of red, orange and yellow stained the otherwise completely green forest, and golden rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves. The air was fresh and clean, so different from the streets of New York.

Clary took a deep breath, inhaling all the new scents, and sat down on a moss covered rock. Even this late in the year, birds chirped, and she closed her eyes, letting it all wash over her as a light breeze covered played with her hair.

For reasons unbeknownst to her, Clary began to sing softly, not caring that tears still flowed freely across her cheeks. A haunting melody weaved its way from her mouth to the surrounding forest, speaking of pain and sorrow in a foreign language Clary herself didn't understand. Her mother had taught the song to her when she was very little; Clary was surprised to still remember the words. But she did, and as she sang her heart out to the forest, all her worries seemed to flow into the music, allowing her to forget them for just a little while.

"I en sal på lasarettet, där de vita sängar stå, låg en liten bröstsjuk flicka,

Blek och tärd med lockigt hår.

Allas hjärtan vann den lilla, där hon låg så mild och god, bar sin smärta utan klagan, med ett barnsligt tålamod… (A/N: skip to the last two verses)

Läkarn svarar ej den lilla, men strök sakta hennes hår, och med tårar i sitt öga, vänder han sig om går.

Nu hon slumrar uti mullen, slumrar sött i snövit skrud. Från sin tåligt burna längtan, har hon farit upp till Gud."

She started to sob all over again. She shouldn't have done that. It reminded her too much of her childhood, of a loving mother brushing a few stray curls of hair from her face while singing that very song, then kissing her on the forehead while telling her to go to sleep. Of the same mother ignoring her, throwing her out, telling her she was not good enough.

"That was beautiful," a voice said from behind her. "What's it about?"

Clary sat completely still, wishing he'd go away, but at the same time, praying for him to come closer. She knew that voice. Lame as it sounds, she knew it because it made shivers travel up and down her spine, knew it because it could make her knees go weak just by saying a few simple words.

Like "that was beautiful".

"I'm not sure, but my . . . my mom used to tell me a story about a little girl who was sick, I think it was tuberculosis, and this girl was in the hospital. She'd lie there, day in and day out, never complaining, just asked the doctor once when she could come home to her mom, if she'd be home by Easter, and the doctor answered that no, she wouldn't, but maybe for Pingst (A/N:an old holiday somewhere in May or early June, I think). And so the girl waited. Pingst came, but she was still there, not saying a word except "can I come home to my mother in the fall?". But the doctor never answered," Clary said with a sad smile, still not facing Jace. "And then she died and went to heaven.

"After my mother told me the story, she'd sing the song and tuck me into bed."

Jace sat down beside her, resting his arm on his knees.

"Do you miss her?" he asked quietly. "Your mom, I mean. Is that why you were crying?"

Clary whipped around to face him, green eyes blazing with anger.

"She stopped being my mom a long time ago," she hissed, thrusting one of her fingers in his face.

"You still haven't answered my question. Do you miss her?" Jace asked again, seemingly unfazed by her little breakdown. Clary lowered her hand.

She was about to say no, when she realized that would be a lie. She wished it wasn't, wished she'd be able to tell him, no, I don't miss her, she abandoned me, and I never want to see her face again.

But she couldn't.

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes looking anywhere but him. "Every single day, even though I try so hard not to."

"Hey," Jace murmured, trailing a finger lightly across her jaw. "Look at me. Clary, please just look at me," he begged, and hooked his finger under her chin, but he didn't turn her head towards him.

Clary shivered, and it was not because of the cold October air. Reluctantly, she turned, and raised her eyes to his. She was shocked by what she saw there. The walls he'd built around him were down, allowing her to see every emotion, every sensation he felt. Kindness. Understanding. Sadness. And, surprisingly, desire.

She took a sharp intake of breath as he came closer. Was he going to kiss her? Her gaze travelled to his lips, and she felt an overwhelming urge to just take them with her own.

But she didn't, because he didn't kiss her at all. Instead, Jace just hugged her, and held her closely as she began to cry all over again.


	10. I'm sorry - No I'm sorry

**A/N: Hi again, guys! I'm so sorry it took me FOREVER to update, I just had a lot on my plate (cruel, cruel math, remember?). This chapter might be good, it might be bad, I don't know, but I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Also, I realized I forgot this in the last chapter, THANK YOU for reading/favoriting/following/reviewing this story, for making my day, and for never complaining (at least not yet… ;)). I love you all so much, it's almost Clace caliber… **

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns everything!**

Clary stood in her room, looking at her reflection in the full length mirror Isabelle insisted was necessary in every teenage girl's room. She also insisted she would make Jace install it even if Clary said no.

It had been almost two weeks since that day in the forest, and even though they were pretty much each other's opposite, Jace and Clary had become good friends. The Lightwoods were surprised Jace even talked to her without making a sexist comment every time he opened his mouth (it was more like every other time now), let alone treating her like she was his best friend.

They met up every day in the forest when Clary was supposed to have math with Luke. She'd tried transferring to another class, but that proved to be impossible, so skipping was the best she could get at the moment.

Plus, she got to hang out with Jace.

Jace, who seemed like such an ass when she first met him, but was now one of the nicest people she'd ever met. Jace, who showed her a side of him he didn't let anyone else see. Jace, who made her heart race every time he was near her.

But he was supposed to be her brother now. The fact that they weren't related by blood didn't matter.

_Would it really be that wrong?_ She asked herself, frowning at herself in the mirror.

_Yes, it would. And it's not like _he'd_ ever want someone like _you_, anyway. Look at yourself._

She did. Wild curls of fiery red hair – which gave her the nickname Red Riding Hood, or just Red for short – and green eyes. Tiny frame. Small chest. No curves.

Disgusting.

She turned her face away, and went to sit down on the bed. Clary didn't need any more reasons as to why her parents didn't want her, why nobody did. Sure, the Lightwoods took her in, and Jace was one of her best friends, but they did not know what had happened to her. Surely, if they did, they'd all abandon her, too.

She lay down, face pressed hard into the soft pillow, and cried soundlessly because she wasn't enough.

.o.O.o.

"Clary?" came a voice from the other side of the room, and her heart quickened. "Clary, are you allright?" a heavy body sank down on the bed beside her, and a rough, calloused hand stroked her hair tentatively.

She sniffled, and answered, her voice muffled by the pillow,

"I'm fine. Just leave me alone, Jace."

"Me? Leaving you alone? Never." Jace scoffed. "And it's pretty obvious you're not fine. Come on, tell me what's wrong, Red." He lay down and leaned on one of his elbows, his right hand still tangled in her hair, sending little electric shocks through her body, and she shivered.

"Cold, Red?" he asked, and she just _knew_ he was smirking. But, she had to make sure.

Turning on her most frightening death glare, Clary lifted her head from the pillow. Sure enough, his signature smirk was plastered across his face, and she had the sudden urge to smack it off him.

Jace's lips immediately turned down into a frown. His hand moved from her hair to her chin, holding it in place so she wouldn't turn away.

"Why were you crying, Clary?" he probed, his voice soft and caring.

"I can't' tell you."

His expression hardened, but he still didn't remove his fingers from her face.

"Can't, or won't?"

She looked down at the mattress, unwilling to answer his question.

"Damn it, Clary, why can't you just answer me? Really, just looking at me would be fine, but you can't even do that, can you?"

His voice sounded furious, and Clary cringed. Ashamed, she lifted her eyes towards his again. The sheer emotion in them took her breath way. There was hurt, anger, and an emotion completely foreign to her, but it looked like . . . desire?

No. That couldn't be it.

"If I told you, you'd hate me," she whispered, new tears starting to gather in her green eyes.

He flinched, and this time he was the one to break their connection.

"Red – Clary – I don't know what you think about me, but if you believe I could ever hate you, you're even more clueless than I thought."

A warm feeling fluttered in Clary's chest, and she propped herself up on one elbow, leaning a little bit closer to him, unable for some reason to take her gaze off his full, pink lips.

"Why do you _care_, anyway? I'm _nothing._ Just a stupid girl who you decided to befriend for reasons no human on this earth, me least of all, can understand."

He reached up again, this time to cup her cheek.

"Don't you ever say that, Clary." Jace said, his lips now brushing hers. "You're not nothing. You're _everything_."

And with that, he closed the last distance between them, and kissed her.

His lips caressed hers with a gentleness she'd thought impossible, holding her as if she was a frail piece of glass, afraid of shattering her. The electric feeling she got whenever she touched him intensified by a hundred, and she knotted her fingers in his white shirt.

Just like that, the moment was gone.

He pushed away from her, his golden eyes regarding her with a look somewhere between wanting to rip her clothes off and rip her head off. Most of all, he looked astonished. Astonished and frightened.

"Wha – what the fuck?" he managed to gasp, causing Clary's eyes to water once again.

"I – I'm sorry," she choked out, a few tears already making their way down her round cheeks.

She'd ruined everything. Jace was going to hate her. He'd tell she rest of his family, and they'd hate her, too. No more makeovers in Izzy's room. No more teasing Alec for his glittery boyfriend (who she'd finally got to meet). No more –.

"_You're_ sorry? I'm the one who should be apologizing_. _I shouldn't have done that. It's just…" he trailed off.

Clary was shocked. Why did he think he was the one who had done something wrong? She was the one who'd . . . wait a minute. He'd kissed her.

_He _had kissed _her!_

Clary bit her lip, looking up at Jace, inhaling sharply when she noticed his expression. His gaze was glued to her lips, jaw clenched, and his fists clutched the sheets.

He was looking at her like he wanted to… Clary didn't know, exactly. But she did know that she no longer had any control over her body.

Her hands reached out to grab his shirt again, and his breathing hitched.

"It's just what?" she asked, a new confidence taking over her mind. He wanted her. She was sure of it.

"Damn it," he growled, and smashed his lips to hers again.

This kiss was different, so different. The last one was tentative, questioning, tender. This one was all fire and need, want and passion.

Jace moved one arm over her side, and rolled them over, so he was now on top of her. His hands slipped under her shirt, and she moaned, the feeling of him, of _Jace_, so intense it was almost comical. She bit his lower lip hard, making him groan, spurring her on even more.

He moved his palms even further up her stomach, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Clary took a hold of his shirt, and started to pull it over his chest.

"Clary," he groaned and kissed her neck, emitting another moan from her, "Clary we should stop. Izzy and Alec will be home soon with all the stuff for the –" another groan "party."

Clary stiffened. That's right. The Halloween party they were going to throw tonight, the one practically the whole school was going to attend.

She sighed, and reluctantly pushed him off her, which was not a very easy feat considering the fact every fiber of her being was screaming for her to screw the party, screw _everyone,_ and just continue kissing him.

Jace understood, and moved so that he was sitting with his feet placed firmly on the floor. He kissed her lightly again, and said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye,

"So, I'll see you at the party?"

Jace winked at Clary, then walked out of her room.

_Jesus._

**A/N: I'm sorry if this was really bad, I've never actually kissed anyone, so my experience with that is strictly fictional, so . . . yeah. I LOVE YOU! **


	11. Meet me in 10 minutes

**AN: Hey again! I got such a response from you last chapter, and I kinda wanted to melt inside when I saw it (although you did keep me awake at night reading your awesomely awesome reviews), and I just thought . . . I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! Every reader, every reviewer, every single one of you I LOVE! I think I have a secret relationship with fanfiction . . . :P Anyway, here's chapter 11! Enjoy ;)**

**And, this is my first time writing Magnus, so I'm sorry if he's too OOC.. :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments, or any of its characters. **

.o.O.o.

Jace walked towards the door, beer bottle in hand, and opened it, showing a few seniors from the Alicante Institute who he didn't really know. But he grinned at them anyway, and stepped aside to let them inside the house.

The Halloween party was in full swing, and the living room was now serving as a dance floor – and, for some people, a substitute for a room.

Jace turned away after seeing one particularly disgusting couple, and made a face. A year ago–no, _two weeks_ ago–that had been him. But now, everything had changed.

He'd met Clary. Beautiful (yes, beautiful, not hot), redheaded pixie Clary, with piercing green eyes that seemed to see right through him, see that there was something beyond the arrogant asshole he made himself up to be. Clary who was almost the exact opposite of the girls he usually "dated".

And she was his sister.

Not by blood or anything, but still. His sister. _Sistersistersistersistersist er._

He knew it wasn't _that_ big a deal. But . . . somehow, it still was. He didn't care what the rest of the school thought, but what about Maryse? What about Robert? What about Alec and Isabelle? What about all the people who loved him, and expected him to love Clary like he loved Isabelle, loved Alec?

He couldn't disappoint them like that. No matter how much he wanted to.

And, God, how he wanted to. Earlier, when he'd kissed Clary (a full-blown make-out session – on her _bed_ – was more like it) the only thing he could think about was _how much he wanted to_. Actually, it still dominated the majority of his brain. All of those grinding people weren't really helping, either. Not that watching other people, erm, doing _things_ turned him on, but it got him thinking about Clary. And how he'd really like to do said _things _with her.

Now _that_ turned him on.

Especially since he knew what Isabelle had forced her to wear, and needless to say, it was a little . . . _revealing_. Plastic vampire fangs, a small black dress that clung to her body like liquid, combat boots, hair cascading down her back like a red, curly waterfall. Some kind of smoky makeup that made her already amazing green eyes stand out even more, and when her gaze landed on him, it reminded him strangely of a laser beam, focused directly at Jace, stripping away his defenses until he stood naked before her. Metaphorically, of course.

Damn, now he had Clary without any clothes on his mind.

Jace adjusted his pants discreetly, and moved to get another beer.

.o.O.o.

Clary sat on her bed, in her room, in – did it count as her house?

Clary didn't know. She'd lived there for two weeks, with her new family, but she still felt out of place, like a moth in a field full of butterflies, like a dandelion trying to be an orchid.

Like a messed-up teenager attempting to fit in with the nicest people in the world. Who just happened to look like movie stars.

And then there was Jace. He was different (well – except for the movie star aspect. He definitely had that part down. If his skin wasn't so tan she would probably believe she'd stepped into the Twilight saga and met a very, very,_ very_ hot vampire.). His life hadn't been easy, either. Otherwise, he'd still be living with his real family instead of an adopted one.

The loud bass from the music playing downstairs pounded into her room, making the walls vibrate with every beat. Clary lay down, face first into the mattress, pressing a pillow over her ears in a weak attempt to block out the noise. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work.

She sighed, and flung the stupid pillow to the other side of the room. The best thing to do was probably going down to the party, but if she did . . . she'd have to see Jace.

Just Jace would be a dream on any other day, but especially today. Because of what happened earlier in her room, and because of how he looked at her when she came out of Isabelle's room (the rip-her-head-slash-clothes-off look had returned, but without the head part). But odds were, some slut from school (her name would probably be Seelie or Kaelie) was grinding on him right now, and that would make the dream a nightmare.

Okay, she _might_ be exaggerating a little. But still, it would not be fun to see him with some other girl.

A knock sounded on the bedroom door.

"Come in," Clary said softly, although she doubted the person on the other side had heard her, given the fact that the music was still going at the highest possible volume.

"Why, hello, darling. I was looking for Alexander but –" a slight pause before the distinct voice continued. "it does not look like he's here. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

Clary smiled slightly, then answered,

"No, I haven't. I think he might be in his room, though." She turned towards the man standing in the middle of her room. "Nice pants, by the way," she said, gesturing to his leather-clad legs, which were an odd neon shade of green, matched with a shiny, purple shirt. His sparkly, bluish-black hair was in its trademark spiky updo.

Just like always, then.

Magnus grinned.

"What are you supposed to be, anyway?" she asked, curious.

"I'm a warlock."

Clary looked him over again, doubtful.

"I don't think warlocks look like that, Mags."

He waved her statement off with his right hand - which shot little electric-blue sparks in the air, one of his usual tricks.

"Nonsense. I'm just not a very traditional one, that's all. And neither –" he sat down on the bed next to her "are you. Why are you up here, instead of dancing with the hot boys down there? I saw some very fine specimens down there," Magnus said and winked at her.

Clary thought for a moment. She didn't want anyone to know about her and Jace – if such a thing even existed – but she trusted Magnus. He was a good listener (even though the advice that followed might not be of the same caliber. He thought glitter was the answer to everything.), and he would never judge her, or gossip about it like certain other people did (*cough* Kaelie and Seelie *cough cough*).

"I just don't wanna see a bunch of sluts dry humping with Mr. Manwhore, that's all."

"That's just what he does, Clary. You'll get used to it. But from what I saw before I went looking for my Alexander, he was standing in a corner alone, glaring at any of the girls that looked at him. He's been acting different ever since you came here, you know. Almost – dare I say it – as if he has _emotions_. What is between you two?"

Clary bit her lip. Was she really that obvious?

Magnus seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.

"I've been waiting for this to happen for a while, Clary. I just watch him a little more intently than other people. I doubt anyone else has noticed."

Clary let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

Then she told him everything, from the very first sighting ("He was the most beautiful person I've ever seen."), to their hot kiss ("and then he just winked at me and walked out? What the hell?"), to his reaction to her "vampire costume" ("his eyes were literally bugging out of his head!"). When she was done, Magnus only nodded.

"Get your ass down there, honey, so you can get some action and I can get mine. Alexander is in his room, you say?"

Clary grinned at him, and he winked again before going to fetch Alec.

.o.O.o.

"Jace!" a voice called from somewhere in the room.

He turned around, stumbling slightly from all the alcohol, and was met with a pair of bright green eyes. _God, does she have to stand so damn close,_ he thought. It was hard enough to resist touching her when she _wasn't_ standing a less than a foot away from him.

Then he realized that if he just leaned forward slightly, his lips would meet hers. Jace's heartbeat quickened.

"Hey Clary," he greeted, and put the hand that wasn't holding a bottle of vodka on her hip, drawing her closer. He knew there was something he needed to remember about him and Clary, but he just couldn't figure out what.

"_Jace,_" she hissed, removing his hand and looking around quickly, to make sure no one saw.

He was confused. Why didn't he get to touch her? She looked so good in her vamp dress, and somehow those fangs were just really, _really_ hot. His gaze zeroed in on her full, red lips. Maybe he should kiss her. The desire to do so was suddenly overwhelming, and it took control over his mind. _Kiss Clary, kiss Clary, kiss… _a voice chanted in his head. Jace leaned forward, but Clary stopped him again, though her eyes betrayed her actions. She wanted him to kiss her, too. _Good._

"Jace, we can't do this . . . here," she reminded him, her voice trembling slightly.

Oh, right. Foster-brother/sister thing. He leaned close anyway, and whispered in her ear.

"Let's go somewhere else, then. Meet me outside by the big oak in ten minutes."

"Okay," she breathed, and walked away, knees wobbling.

He watched her with drunken satisfaction. _God, I love that girl. _

Wait a minute . . . did he just say love?

No. Of course he hadn't. He just cared for her, that's all. More than he'd ever cared for any other girl. But he most certainly did not _love_ her.

...

**AN2: Hellooo... I just wanna apologize for any writing/grammar mistakes :) Have a good day/morning/night :P**


	12. Who Cares about Isabelle?

**AN: I'M SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING!**

**I've just been so busy, a shitload of homework has been shot this way over the past week. I think I'm going to die, seriously… my grave will say "Evelyn. Death by trying to memorize too many stupid words about court."  
You are so gonna hate me after this chapter . . . or at least the beginning.. I think..**

**Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN THIS! I'd expect all of you (psycho) lawyers who happen to read this would get that by now.. Jeez, Cassandra Clare owns this (grumbles)..**

**I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! NEVER FORGET IT! And, special thanks to CannibleDuckWithAnAxe4, because she always PMs me, and supports me and stuff, and I love her (like a friend…) because I feel like we both have relationships with fanfiction… JK ;)**

**.o.O.o.**

Jace's mouth continued to travel down Clary's neck, and she moaned. His hands were inside her dress, on her thighs, but they were travelling higher at a steady pace.

His teeth nipped and pulled at the skin where her neck met her shoulder, and she let out another moan. She felt like a fire was burning from every point his skin touched hers, and it was becoming almost unbearably hot.

Jace pressed her harder against the tree, and lifted one of his hands from under her dress to tangle itself in her hair. Clary gasped, and moved one of her own to his flat, toned stomach, causing him to groan loudly.

"Maybe" another groan "we should take this inside?" he asked her, his lips now grazing the shell of her ear.

Clary had now lost the ability to speak, and just nodded vigorously. They were both too drunk to care about the implications of his words – and the fact that they were practically related. They just continued to kiss passionately as they stumbled through the yard, and the party, and up the stairs, until they got to his room, and Clary pulled back, panting.

"Are we really going to do this? What if Isabelle finds out?" she asked. Jace just smirked, and leaned closer to her, and whispered in her ear.

"Who cares about Isabelle?"

.o.O.o.

Jace rolled over sleepily, acutely aware of his pounding headache. He was just about to grab a pillow and put over his head, when he froze.

_There was someone in his bed._

Slowly, slowly, he lifted a hand and poked the sleeping body beside him.

_It moved._

He squinted in the dim light and tried to make out any identifying features. All he could see was that she was tiny and had long, red hair. Not much to go on.

Wait a minute?!

Tiny, red hair?

Shit!

Clary was in his bed!

Shocked, and frankly, a bit terrified, he tried desperately to remember something, _anything_, from last night, but he got nothing, except that they'd had a Halloween party, and that Clary's looked damn hot in her vamp costume.

She had to wake up. She _had_ to _remember_. He needed to know what had happened the night before, if they'd _slept together_, or just, you know, slept together. If that made any sense.

"Clary… Clary wake up," he said softly, shaking her lightly.

She mumbled something unintelligible, and buried her head in his shoulder. If Jace hadn't been so panicked (and nauseous), he'd have thought it was sweet. Now it just made him want to wake her up even more to tell him if something more than just cuddling had happened last night.

"Dammit, _wake up!"_ he growled, and removed her head from his body. This time, she sat up, a very annoyed expression plastered across her face.

Clary turned around to glare at him, even though he could just barely see the color of her hair, he knew that was what she was doing.

"Was that completely necessary? I was having a good dream!"

In any other circumstance (well, maybe not if they were about to drown, or be eaten by cannibals, but you get the picture) Jace would've made some smart retort, but now . . . now he just wanted to know what had happened between them.

"Look, Clary, I'm really sorry, but –"he began.

"So this is it? You fuck me, and then you leave, just like you do with every other girl?" she interrupted, her voice sounding as if she was trying to be angry but the sadness and hurt was taking over.

Jace sat frozen in the bed, only capable of forming one thought;

"I 'fucked' you?"

Clary stilled. She clearly hadn't expected that.

"W – why are you asking me that?"

Jace moved closer to her, and hooked a finger around her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Please. _Please_ just answer my question. I can't remember anything from last night, and now I wake up with you here with me, and I have no idea what happened between us. Wouldn't you want to know the answer, too?" he asked, and she shook her head slowly at him. He removed his hand from her face.

"No."

"No what?"

"No, we didn't have sex . . . exactly."

He shot out of the bed, stunned. She couldn't mean what he thought she did, could she?

"You mean you – and I –we…" he trailed off. For some reason, he didn't want to say the words.

"Yes, I gave you a blowjob, and you returned the favor. You couldn't find any condoms, okay? We were about to… you know."

He sucked in a shaking breath. Shit. Well, at least it was better than actual sex. He did want to do it with her, but drunken sex at some random party wasn't exactly how he wanted to do it. Plus, he was pretty sure she was a virgin, and he didn't want to hurt her.

"Shit, Clary, I'm sorry, I guess I was just so drunk and-"

She put a finger over his lips.

"It's okay Jace, really. Now, let's just go back to sleep, okay? You're not the only one with a hangover."

**AN: I'm so sorry! I know, that was short, and sucky, and totally not worth the wait! I just had a crappy week, okay? Really, really crappy…**


	13. Where are your clothes?

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments, Cassandra Clare does, so stop hassling me about it!**

Isabelle woke up to the beep of the alarm clock. She groaned. Just because she didn't drink that much at the party did not mean she wasn't hungover. She was. At least, enough to want to kill that stupid alarm for making such an annoying sound.

Isabelle slapped it a couple times, and when it finally stopped beep-ing, she sat up, rubbing her eyes tiredly. It was time to get up. Even though it was Saturday, Izzy was dead set on getting up before eleven. Ground rule. She navigated blindly through the familiar mess of her room until she reached the window, and opened the curtains. Sunlight streamed in, and she squinted, trying to get used to the sudden change.

Isabelle dug through the many piles of clothes on the floor until she found something she deemed fit. At least she'd had the foresight to change out of her dress before going to bed. She grabbed the clothes and a bottle of body wash, and made her way to the nearest bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, Izzy stepped out of the shower, steam billowing after her, clouding up the mirror and warming up the air. The shower had woken her up, and as soon as she got dressed, she'd be ready for what she called "The Big Wake-up Call" (more commonly referred to as "Morning Torture" by the rest of the household.

Jace would be the first to go, because he, unlike Alec, did not have a penchant for hitting her. Plus, Isabelle always enjoyed the possibility of his latest slut being there, because cock-blocking Jace was one of her favorite recreational activities.

Pulling on the black t-shirt and jean shorts she'd brought with her, Izzy began the walk toward Jace's room.

.o.O.o.

"Jaaace," Isabelle said softly as she opened the door. It swung open easily, and she tiptoed towards the bed in the middle of the room. "Jaace, it's time to wake up now," she continued, smirking slightly in the darkness. She took another step towards the bed, and was now close enough to poke him – which was _exactly_ what she did.

Jace let out a huff of annoyance, and shifted in the bed. Izzy laughed, and went to his window. She pulled open the curtains savagely with a cheery "Rise and shine, sleepyhead!"

She turned around, still chuckling, and pulled up short.

There, with _Jace, in his bed_, was _Clary._

Her thick, red hair was spread across one of his pillows, and Jace – he – he was _cuddling_ with her.

_The horror._

"Jace. _Jace,_ what the _hell?"_ she demanded, stomping angrily across the room until she stood towering over the couple – _couple._

Jace flinched, and covered his ears while attempting a glare through his half-open eyes.

"Hey! Stop yelling, my head is killing me. And please, please, close those damn curtains," he hissed, still cowering from the light. Isabelle snorted.

"You want me to stop yelling? Then tell me _why the HELL Clary is in your bed!"_

"Jesus." Isabelle moved her gaze to Clary, who was now sitting up and looking at Izzy disapprovingly. "I was just tired, and a bit drunk, and needed a place to sleep. Chill, Izzy," she said, and raised her arms above her head and yawned. Isabelle couldn't help but notice the fact that she was only in her underwear.

"Oh yeah," Izzy challenged. "Then why, oh why, were you two _spooning?_ And why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

This time, it was Jace who answered.

"Do you really think I'd stoop so low I'd sleep with my sister? I mean, I've got girls throwing themselves at me, I don't need to resort to incest. And Clary was shivering. It annoyed me, so I was just warming her up a bit."

Despite how much Isabelle tried to ignore it, Clary looked hurt.

"I guess," Izzy muttered, and stepped back. "Well, I've got to go wake up Alec now. I'm not sure I believe you, but I'll let it slip for now. I have better things to do, anyway." She gave them one last withering look before leaving the room.

.o.O.o.

Clary sat beside Jace, staring at the wall. She knew she shouldn't take it personally, but Jace's words had hurt her. _I've got girls throwing themselves at me, I don't need to resort to incest. _It bounced around in her brain, refusing to leave her alone. A small tear gathered in her eye.

_Stop crying,_ she thought miserably, thinking back to what her parents had told her. _Stop it! You're just proving them right. You are weak and pathetic and useless._

Instead of making the tears stop, that just spurred them on, and soon she was weeping soundlessly in Jace's bed.

"Hey, hey. Clary, what's wrong? Is it what I told Isabelle? Oh, God, it is, isn't it? I swear, I was only saying that to get her off my back, I didn't mean it, not one word. Please believe me!" he started to ramble, his golden eyes searching hers desperately. She gave a short laugh.

"I know, you were just so . . . convincing, I guess. Anyway, that's not why I'm crying. I mean, it was, at first, but then I just started thinking about my parents, and . . ." she trailed off, and looked down in her lap. Jace put an arm around her soothingly.

"When I was a child," he began, "my father, Stephen, was involved with this, this militia group, or something similar, anyway. It was called the Circle, led by some guy named Valentine. They were extremists, hated everyone who wasn't exactly like them.

"My dad, he was very involved with this group, and as I grew older, it got worse. He'd beat up me and my mom, force me to come with him to their stupid meetings. He was mad. At least, that's what I thought. And then, one day when we were all home having fun for once – we were playing monopoly, and I was winning – two of the guys from the meeting came in with the loudest _bang_ I've ever heard. They'd kicked open the door. One of them, the biggest one, pulled a gun and pointed it at my dad, saying something about how Valentine knew how he'd betrayed him, and he was going to pay the price. Then," Jace said in a small voice, "they shot him, right between the eyes. My mom screamed, but I was paralyzed. She told me to run, and after a while, I did. But not before I saw them put a bullet in her head.

"I was ten, then, and three years and a lot of foster homes later, the Lightwoods took me in. A year ago they adopted me. But I still have the nightmares almost every night. Every night except this one."

Clary was stunned. She didn't know what to say. Compared to his, her past was a piece of cake, not even a minor obstacle. But, still, she knew how it felt to be alone, even if it was from completely different reasons.

"Jace, I –"

"I know, poor Jace, poor parentless me, right?" he interrupted bitterly. Clary put a small hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off.

"I wasn't going to say that. Just that I know how it feels. My parents disowned me when I was eleven. I've been on my own since then. It's not as bad as it was for you, but, I can relate, I guess." She answered sadly. Jace looked back at her again, and she couldn't help but notice how his eyes shone with emotion and unshed tears.

Jace put his arms around her and hugged her tightly, and she sobbed into his shoulder until his chest was dripping with salty water and his cheeks were wet with tears of their own.

.o.O.o.

"I guess I'd better get back to my room, then," Clary sniffled, her head resting on his muscled chest. She was positioned on top of him, and they were lying on his bed peacefully, ignoring the fact that Isabelle was probably going to barge in again at any moment.

"Not until you tell me the full story," he retorted, securing his grip on her body so that she couldn't get away. She hesitated.

"Jace, please –" she begged but he interrupted.

"No you please. I just want to understand. I've never told anyone about what happened to me before, but I told you. I told you because you understand me, because you see past my asshole façade, and because I trust you. All I'm asking is for you to trust me in return."

Clary nearly broke down again. He _trusted _her. He actually trusted her, more than he did anyone else.

No-one had ever done that before, never. She was just Clary. Nobody wanted Clary to now about their lives.

But he did.

Clary shifted so her bright green eyes met his golden ones, and then she told him everything.

She told him how she'd had the perfect life, how her mother would tuck her in and sing to her, how her father would ruffle her hair and buy her cotton candy at the carnival. How her brother always looked after her, about how he was her best friend in the entire world.

And how it all changed

How her mother stopped talking to her, how her father never even looked her way, how her brother would look disinterestedly at the other children who mocked and bullied her at the playground.

And then, how they threw her out and told her she was nothing. How, lately, she'd started to believe them.

When she was done, Jace kissed her softly on the forehead. Her heartbeat quickened.

"You're the most amazing, talented and beautiful girl I have ever met. Don't you ever think you're not."

Clary smiled into his chest, and sat up. He loosened his grip and let her.

"Can I go now?" she asked, and his expression transformed into a smirk.

"Here I am, basically declaring my undying love for you, and your answer is 'can I go now?'. Classic." His words were bitter and sarcastic, but his eyes twinkled with humor. She laughed and swatted his chest.

"Well, can I?"

"Be my guest," he answered, gestured with his arm towards the open door. She stood up, still in her underwear. He swallowed loudly. "Put some clothes on before I change my mind. You can borrow one of my shirts."

Clary grinned at him and opened a drawer filled with t-shirts. She picked a huge black one, and when she put it on it almost reached her knees. Clary couldn't help but notice it smelled like Jace, like lemons and grass and sunlight. She noticed how Jace smirked at her from the corner of her eye, but she ignored him, and walked happily to her room.

**AN: Phew! I think that was a rather long one for me, but it kind of deteriorated at the ending . . . hehe :P This was kind of a filler, and I know there haven't been so much plot-thingies in the last chapters, but bug shit is going down. Shout out to anyone who can guess what's going to happen! I know, that's not much of a reward, but I wanna see if I'm really obvious in my plans… :P**

**As I a writing this, we have exactly 100 reviews! ONE HUNDRED! Oh my God, I'm so happy! I never even thought I'd reach twenty.. :P You guys are so awesome! I love you all SO MUCH, I can never say (or, well, write) that enough!**

**Thank you for reading, I love you all SO MUCH (again...)! I'm sorry for my chapters being so short and the long wait between updates. Again, please do not stick a virtual butterknife in my eye! Pleeeease!**


	14. I've got you

**A/N: Okay, so I jusy want to apologize for a few things:**

**1. I'm sorry for taking so long to update**

**2. I'm sorry for this being so rushed and crappy**

**3. I'm sorry for this being so short**

**4. I'm sorry for all the excuses I'm going to make now.**

**I'm REALLY sorry! But I was super stressed over a stupid math test that I kinda had the whole week to finish, and I had a lot of hoework.**

**Plus, I haven't really felt like writing, so... Sorry :(**

**I love you guys for sticking with me :)**

**Shoutout to:**

**Knightshade-alpha1797, cuz she was really close with one of her guesses, I think, **

**Indecisivly Undecided, because she actually guessed :P**

**and**

**CannibalDuckWithAnAxe4, because she's awesome, and she guessed, and was really close, too!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments.**

Clary took a deep breath to calm her raging nerves. Her thick, red hair hung down her back in glossy waves, her makeup was flawless, and her tight jeans and black t-shirt made her usually nonexistent curves look sexy and mature, but despite her Isabelle-loves-makeovers look, she felt like complete shit.

Why?

She was finally going to confront Luke.

After two weeks of skipping his class, Clary thought it was time to get over her stupid fear and learn the reason as to why he practically abandoned her when she was disowned.

It was thirty minutes until fourth period, and Clary had to go. She didn't want the prying stares of the rest of the student body to witness this.

Her past belonged to her, not to them. Her life was not something to gush and gossip about, and if they saw her and Luke together, it would take less than a second before the rumors started travelling around the school. Plus, what happened to her would inevitably come up in the conversation, and if there was something Clary wanted to keep to herself (and Jace), it was that.

No, she had to do it now.

Clary slammed her locker shut with a _bang_ – causing half of the people in the corridor to turn and stare, probably wondering what her problem was – and made her way to the classroom which she knew would be empty except for Luke.

Clary walked towards the closed door with determined steps. Luckily, this part of the school was practically empty, and the only sound to be heard was her sneakers squeaking against the floor, and the distant laughter of her fellow classmates coming from somewhere above her head.

Except, it wasn't.

Hushed voices floated from inside Luke's classroom, and Clary crept closer. One of them definitely belonged to a woman, but she was still too far away to pick up the words. A strand of fiery hair escaped from behind her ears, and Clary brushed it away irately. Somehow, she _recognized_ that voice.

One more step and she was standing directly in front of the door. Bits of words were starting to come through, but she needed to get closer. As silently as possible, Clary pressed her ear against the small opening between the wall and the door, and she could finally understand what they were saying.

"I'm telling you, she was here," Luke said, and Clary wondered if – no. He wasn't talking about her, was he?

"Well, then why haven't I seen her in the last _week_ I've spent in this school with you, looking for her?" the woman asked, anger and a slight note of desperation in her voice.

Oh yeah, they were definitely talking about her. And Clary definitely knew whoever was talking to Luke.

But who was it? And why were they discussing her, of all people?

"I don't know, okay? She hasn't been to my class since the first time, okay?" Clary could hear the shuffling of feet, and when Luke finally spoke again, it was much closer to her, like he was about to go out of the classroom. "I'm _sorry_ if I thought you'd like to see your daughter again after six years."

The blood drained out of Clary's face, and she stumbled backwards, barely avoiding falling flat on her ass. Her breaths were coming in short gasps, and the only thing she was aware of was the overwhelming sensation of the room closing in on her.

Clary turned and ran towards the bathroom just as the fire alarm started.

.o.O.o.

Clary looked at the image in the mirror before her. The fire alarm was still going off, the water soaking her shirt, but she didn't give a shit. It was probably a drill, anyway.

Jocelyn was there. Her _mom_ was there.

She gripped the sink even harder, and the edges cut into her palms uncomfortably. But as she stood there, shaking, practically unable to move, she found herself taking pleasure in the pain.

_You're such a psycho,_ she thought, disgusted. _What, are you gonna start cutting yourself now? You're such a freak._

A foreign emotion built up inside her, until she was so overcome with it she almost fainted. Rage. Panic. Sorrow. _Self-hatred_.

She let out a pained scream, and some primal instinct took over, and she raised a hand and punched the mirror as hard as she could. It shattered into a million pieces, and they hit the floor about at the same time as Clary did.

She sat on her knees, sobbing, cradling her injured fist. The blood flowed steadily out of the many cuts and stained her clothes, but she was numb to the pain. She was numb to everything. Except . . .

Except for the fact that a strange smell was filling the air, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

.o.O.o.

Jace was walking through the crowded 40 corridors, talking to some dude named Jordan, when it happened. The fire.

One second he was just chilling, about to go outside to meet Clary in the woods, and the next thing he knew there were crazed teachers running out of the classrooms, yelling at them to get out, and a wailing alarm pierced his ears.

Clary. He had to get to Clary.

He pushed against the current of panicked students, and made his way to Clary's locker.

She wasn't there.

She was always there. He knew that because she'd told him, because she told him everything.

Why wasn't she there?

"Shit," he swore, and ran towards one of the staircases.

He knew it was a bad idea to just go after her on a hunch – especially when there was a fire – but he had to _get to her,_ dammit!

He opened the door to the smoke filled 20 corridor. It was completely empty, but somehow, he knew this was where Clary was.

"Fuck," he cussed again as he sprinted towards each classroom door, kicking them open with an astounding force, only taking a second to look inside each room, to see if Clary was there – though the smoke made it that much harder to tell.

He was about to give up and go look for her somewhere else, when he heard a loud yell, and the sound of glass breaking.

.o.O.o.

"Clary! _Clary!_"

Clary lay on the floor with her head pressed against the cold, wet tiles. Her hear was spread out like a blanket around her, and her breaths were raspy and short, but she couldn't bring herself to move away.

It wouldn't be so bad, would it, if it just ended there? No more pain, no more fake happiness, no more family abandoning you only to come back a few years later.

Her body lifted off the ground, and she felt strong arms envelop her as they carried her. If she wasn't so tired, so close to giving up, her hearts would have raced uncontrollably.

_Jace._

"Shh. I've got you, Clary, I've got you now. You're gonna be okay," he said as he stepped out of the bathroom and started running towards the emergency exit. "I'm gonna get you out of here."

And somehow, even though she was barely conscious, Clary knew he was telling the truth.

**A/N: Yup. That sucked. Anyone who guessed **


	15. Burns, Cuts and Jocelyn

**A/N: Hi guys! Sorry for nor updating! I just found out some really bad news (I was actually writing with the goal to update quickly when it happened), so I'm kinda out of it, I guess. Anyway, I love you all VERY VERY VERY much! I love you, like I always say ;)**

**Keep on being awesome!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments, Cassandra Clare does -.-**

The world was spinning, and simultaneously, swinging around Clary as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Faces crowded around her, but everything was so blurry she couldn't make anything out other than the color of their hair and skin. It all went black once again, and the next time she woke up, Clary got the impression she was in an ambulance.

Her sight was clearing up a bit, and she could tell that a bunch of paramedics were frantically trying to stop the blood from flowing out of the slashes on her wrists. Every breath the redhead took felt like a thousand knives cutting her throat, her lungs, her nose, everywhere.

Pain, pain, pain, it was suddenly the only thing her mind could register. The burns on her arms and legs, the damage the smoke had done to her breathing, and her arms, oh God, her arms. Even though they were being cared for, Clary did not think she had ever felt something so painful.

How could she have done this to herself?

Before the wounded girl blacked out again, she could have sworn she saw a golden angel watching over her, telling her it would be okay.

**-AMUTO POWER!-**

Jace lay in a soft hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. His body was laced with burns – which hurt like hell – and every time he inhaled he could feel what the fire had done to him.

It hurt like hell just to move.

He let out a sigh – wincing as he was once again reminded of the pain – and attempted to roll over. It did not go very well.

At least he'd managed to save Clary.

Wait a minute!

Clary!

Was she okay?

The last time he'd seen her had been in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, and even then, the boy hadn't managed to see much of what was happening to her – only that she was barely conscious, and really, he wasn't that far off following in her footsteps. She was not the only one in that fire, and had had no part whatsoever in smashing a window just to get out (since the stupid emergency exit was somehow a dead end), or jumping out of said window with a (however tiny) girl in her arms, or landing on broken glass…

Really, the list of things he'd done and things he'd endangered just to save her were endless – but, if it came down to it, he would do them all a thousand times over, just as long as his redhead stayed.

_Since when is she yours?_ A small voice whispered in his mind.

_And when did you become such a girl? _A louder one added. Jace chuckled, or, well, more like willed himself to chuckle but got a giant coughing fit instead.

As he lay there, having an internal argument and practically jumping up and down with the coughs, a petite sixteen year old girl with long, red hair and piercing green eyes was busy in her own hospital, bed reliving her worst nightmares, unable to wake up.

Jocelyn had arrived.

.o.O.o.

"Clary, honey, how are you feeling?" someone asked with a concerned tone, and Clary felt a soft hand touch her cheek. She opened her eyes.

And slapped the offending person in the face. Or would have slapped the offending person in the face, had the pain shooting up her arm not stopped her first.

Clary gasped, and looked down towards the area that hurt the most. An IV was attached to her hand, bandages were wrapped around her wrists all the way up to her elbow, and the shocked girl could see small, red dots where blood had begun to soak through. Burnt flesh marred the part of her skin that was not hidden, and she could see that her hair was visibly shorter than the last time she'd seen it.

"I know it looks bad," Jocelyn started again, ignoring the murderous glare her daughter sent her, "but the doctors said it will heal quickly. Thank the heavens that boy managed to get you out, though, otherwise I doubt you'd even be alive right now."

Clary's eyes stopped their silent assault on Jocelyn's face, and their expression changed from angry to confused.

"The – boy?" she said, her face scrunched up in question as she gazed – not glared, this time – at her mother. She could not remember anyone coming to save her, only how she had cut herself, how worthless she had felt, how she'd curled up on the floor and thought about letting the darkness take her forever. Then, nothing.

But apparently, it was the complete opposite. Someone had cared enough to look for her and save her life.

Deep in thought, the tiny girl didn't notice that Jocelyn had started to answer her question until she heard a familiar name that sent shivers up her spine.

" – Jace, I think his name was. Yes, Jace, that's it. A rather attractive boy, but he didn't look very trustworthy to me - "

A sudden flare of anger lit up Clary's body, and she focused her piercing eyes on Jocelyn's once again.

"_He?_ _He _doesn't seem trustworthy? How about you? You _abandoned _me when I was a child, and now you think you can just waltz back into my life and decide who seems _trustworthy_ enough? If there's anyone I shouldn't trust, it's _you,_ you, you _bitch!_" she yelled, although it came out only as a hiss. Her mother only looked at her with green eyes identical to her own, and reached out a pale hand towards Clary's cheek, but the girl pulled away, and whispered, "No. Don't you dare touch me. You're not my mother anymore."

Jocelyn flinched as though Clary had hit her, and took a step back. Clary felt a small twinge of guilt, but it quickly disappeared again. She deserved this, her mother deserved to know how it was to be the one everyone turned their back on, as opposed to being the one doing the actual turning.

"Clary," Jocelyn said so faintly that Clary was not sure she had heard correctly. "Clary, I –"

"Is everything alright over here?" a cute nurse with warm brown eyes and matching brown hair wondered as she stepped into the room. "Your heart monitor was going way too fast there for a while," the girl continued. Clary smiled at her, thinking she seemed like a nice person.

"Actually, no. I get to decide who I want to visit me in here, right?" the nurse only nodded, slightly confused by her words. "Great. Then will you please escort this woman out of my room?" Clary continued in a sickly sweet voice. She really did not want Jocelyn in the room. She wanted Jocelyn buried under a mile of ice on some distant planet a million light-years away.

"O-of course, but are you sure you want to –"

"Yes," the redhead interrupted. She was starting to get annoyed. Why couldn't they just get her mother the hell out of there?

"Okay, then," the nurse murmured uncertainly, and put a hand at the small of the older woman's back. "If you'll just go through right here, then –"

Jocelyn looked at her with horror.

"Wha-what? You can't just force me to –" she said indignantly.

"I'm afraid we can, Ms Fairchild." The nurse was growing quite irritated at the older redhead, too. Why couldn't she just get a hint?

"Fine," Jocelyn huffed, and practically stomped out of the hospital room.

The young brown haired girl turned around, her lips turned up in a warm smile, and took a few steps toward the girl in the bed.

"I'm sorry about that, Ms Fray. I can understand why you didn't want her in there." The nurse started fiddling with some kind of medical equipment that Clary did not recognize.

"It's fine. And call me Clary." The redhead cocked her hair sideways and studied the girl in front of her more closely. She had warm dark brown eyes, tan skin, and Clary noted, surprised, that the hair she'd thought was just up in a ponytail consisted of tiny braids. Her face was pretty, and her body was curvy.

_Why did all the other girls in Idris have to be so Goddamn good looking all the time?_ She thought, thinking back to when she met Isabelle, Aline, Helen, and tons of other people who _always_ looked like freaking super models! _Why? _

The nurse glanced at her quickly, and grinned.

"I'm Maia. I've heard a lot about you from that boy in room 209. All he'll ever say when I come in is 'How is Clary? Is she alright? Has she asked you about me?'"

Clary blushed, and giggled. Jace wanted to know how she was! Something nagged at the back of her mind, and she racked her brain trying to figure out what it was. Suddenly, it snapped. Of course! Jocelyn had said a boy named _Jace_ had rescued her from the burning school! Clary felt a squeal starting to make its way up her body, and she had to fight not to let it out.

"Jace? Maia, did he . . . save me?"

Clary's face turned even redder from the knowing look Maia gave her, and the other girl smirked slowly at her.

"Yeah, he did. There something between the two of you? You seem awfully . . . _concerned_ about the other," the dark skinned girl said, and winked, making Clary want to bury her face in the sheets from embarrassment.

"N-no! W-why would you think that?" the pink-faced redhead stammered out, unable to meet the other girl's sly gaze.

"Like I said, you seem to, em, care a lot about each other. Anyway, I'm gonna give you some more sedatives now. You need to go to sleep. There was some girl called Isabelle demanding to see you her before, but I sent her to Jace's room saying you were asleep. 'Cause you should be."

Maia did something with the IV, before stepping out of the room the same way she had come, and Clary felt the numb darkness of sleep pulling her under all over again.

She fell asleep thinking of golden haired angels and green eyed demons with fiery hair.


	16. Freaky Drawings

**READ THE FIRST PART! IMPORTANT!**

**A/N: I am so sorry about the last chapter! I forgot that Clary only cut her hand on the mirror, that she did NOT slit her wrists. My mistake! But, for now, let's pretend she did cut herself when she was on the floor, OK? Sorry again… **** You can skip the rest of my author's note now, if you want…**

**I'm gonna have to stop apologizing for my updates being so horrible, short, and a week apart – especially when it's such a short chapter as this. Because I never change… I'm stupid, and mean, I know. But seriously, I'm sorry. You can hate me if you want, I still LOVE YOU ALL! Anyways, on to the story..**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments. Cassandra Clare does. I do, however, own this plotline, but I don't know why I said that…**

* * *

Clary was lying in the hospital with a sketchbook in her lap, her small right hand flying furiously over the paper, guiding a pencil. The one window in the room let sunlight stream through it, making her already red hair appear almost on fire, a huge contrast against the otherwise white interior.

Her now healing arms were wrapped in fresh bandages, and the only thing that gave away the burns were the tiny scars they left as a reminder of what probably counted as the worst day in her life. The girl knew she would never be rid of them, that they and the white lines crisscrossing her wrists would stay with her forever. That every time she looked down, the memories would come crashing down again, trapping her in their web, making her future self live through it all again.

Tears gathered in her eyes, but they went unnoticed by the tiny redhead in the bed as she drew her soul out for everyone to see – not that she would show anyone. Besides maybe Jace.

Clary closed her eyes, and when they opened again she focused on what she had drawn for the first time. She was surprised to see that the image was not that of flames and blood, that it didn't picture Jocelyn, Valentine and Jonathan, that it was not her worst fears and nightmares woven together by the charcoal tip of her pencil.

No, in her lap, grey lines overlapped each other gracefully to show a girl with thick, curly hair that hung down over her forehead and covered half her face. Her arms were outstretched like she was about to take flight, but her head was bowed down, and Clary got the impression the girl – her – was . . . mourning.

Behind her, sketched in lighter strokes from her pen, was a boy. His hands were around her waist, his chest pressing against her back. A chiseled jaw was pressed against the girl's shoulder, and the hair on the boy's head was eerily similar to Jace's – except for the fact that the drawing was all grey and white, not golden.

Unlike picture-Clary's body - which was dressed in a beautiful, flowing gown – his was not solid, it seemed to be almost . . . translucent. Like he was going to disappear.

On Jace's back, a pair of huge wings stretched towards the sky, protecting him. From what?

Well, you see, Clary and Jace were standing on a cliff.

And Clary was about to jump.

Once the _real_ Clary noticed this, she gasped, and quickly turned the sketchbook upside-down.

_What the fuck?_

She was sure that weird … _thing_ was supposed to have some kind of deep, inner meaning or whatever, but Clary couldn't figure it out for the life of her.

No, she just thought it was plain creepy.

The now slightly freaked out girl brushed a few red strands of hair behind hear ear as they were waving around in front of her face in a decidedly annoying manner, picked up the discarded sketchbook gingerly with her left thumb and forefinger. Then she – very quickly – flipped it over to a new, blank page.

Her right hand still held the pencil, so Clary one again put the very tip of it on the paper, unsure of how to proceed next.

Hmm. What to draw…?

Just as a light bulb went off in her head and Clary began to sketch, the door opened and Isabelle walked in, with Jace in tow.

Hang on a minute!

_Jace!_

Fiery curls flying in every direction, Clary lifted her head swiftly and smiled at the blonde boy and brown-haired girl standing in the doorway.

Jace was leaning against the frame, his signature smirk in place on his gorgeous face, but it seemed empty, somehow. Like it wasn't real. He was dressed in a white t-shirt, black leather jacket and dark blue jeans, and the blonde's hands were shoved deep into his jeans pockets.

Since Clary's world revolved only around this god-like being standing mere feet away from her, she thoroughly ignored Isabelle's presence in the room – something the fashionable teen did not appreciate, but Izzy ignored it for the time being, seeing as the smaller girl was in the hospital after all.

Clary's green eyes were still staring at Jace, taking him all in (it _had_ been almost a week since she last saw him, after all), when she noticed something. Albeit, she had seen it before, but the significance of it had eluded her until now.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms in front of her chest to seem more intimidating. Needless to say, it did not work very well. "You're out of the hospital! Why do _you _get to walk around in real clothes when _I_ am still lying here, forced into this…this _piece of paper?_"

Jace only chuckled at her outburst. "Well, _I_ did not experience severe blood loss from cuts in my arm, and I certainly didn't have to get an evaluation of my mental health. Which you did, by the way, if you haven't noticed already."

Clary scoffed, and glared evilly at him. She _had_ noticed, she wasn't stupid!

The fact that they'd told her that the psychologist was there to "evaluate her mental health", exactly as Jace had put it, might have helped her a tiny bit on the way to reaching that conclusion.

"Yes, I have, thank you very much. Why are you here?" the angry girl asked, irritated that they'd let him out before her.

Just as Jace was about to respond with yet another brilliant (according to him, that is) comment, Isabelle beat him to it.

"Before you to get into a huge fight over _nothing_-"she emphasized that last word as she looked at Clary meaningfully "-we have something we have to tell you."

Jace immediately straightened up, and a grim expression settled over his golden features. He took a few steps towards the bed where Clary sat, and seated himself by her bent knees. His rough, calloused hands took one of hers softly, and he gazed deep into her eyes. Clary felt herself drown in a flood of melted gold, and fought to stay above the surface.

"Clary," Jace said gently, and Clary couldn't help but notice how deliciously his lips formed her name, or the small shivers hearing it from his mouth gave her. "Clary, they think the fire started in one of the chemistry labs, and –"

"The chemistry labs? Well, that's good, right? I mean, accidents happen there all the time," the confused girl interrupted. Why did they visit her only to tell her this? Not that she minded their company – in fact, it was a welcome distraction from the memories that plagued her – but wasn't it a little unnecessary?

"If you would let me _finish_," Jace growled through clenched teeth, "you would know by now that it is not good at all. Because there was no-one in the labs when the fire started. Which means it wasn't an accident. Clary, they think someone tried to kill you. That's why the monster who did this decided to try and make the whole school go up in flames. Someone is targeting you, Clary."

Jace continued to speak, but the words no longer made sense to Clary. Kill her? Who would want to do that? She did not have any enemies – unless you counted her family, but they didn't exactly give a shit about her, now did they?

No, they did not.

Spots of all colors, shapes and sizes danced at the corners of her eyes, and Clary felt dizzy.

"Jace," she managed to croak out weakly before the darkness, once again, took over.

* * *

**A/N: Seriously, I'm sorry... I love you?**


	17. You will Pay

**A/N: Err, hello! Again... yeah. Sorry about not updating for... three weeks. I've just been really out of it, I've been away for a week, and school is killing me. Hence the shortness and all-over crappiness of this chapter. Special thanks to Shadowhunta213, who left a...helpful and inspiring (such as POTATO!)... review at the end of each chapter, motivating me to write this (even though that was like a week ago). I love you all, as always. Don't die, don't kill me, don't try your new flying legacies by jumping from the Empire State Building.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments, the empire state building, or I am number four!**

* * *

Two weeks earlier

There once was huge forest. It covered great distances, and it was filled with everything from swamps to blueberries to maples and dark, imposing pines.

In the middle of this mass of trees, lay a town named Idris. It was a small place, with only a few thousand inhabitants, most of which were richer than rich. Kids played in the streets, teenagers tricked their parents to go out and party at the infamous club Pandemonium, it was like every other suburban neighborhood, complete with a preppy high school called the Alicante Institute. It was your average high school, with snobs and populars, emos and nerds.

Until it went up in flames.

Yellow and orange streaks of fire licked their way towards the sky, and students crowded at the exits in a panicky attempt to get out. A beautiful blonde made her way to the parking lot with a coughing Asian leaned on her shoulders, a decidedly odd man with sparkly hair and clothes in all shapes and colors helped his handsome boyfriend by treating the few minor burns he had assumed during the rush towards the doors. A once good-looking golden (yes, all of him looked _golden)_ teen crashed out a window, a red haired pixie in his arms, blood and smoke and dust and shattered glass all over them, causing the rest of the people out there, including the firemen and paramedics, to stare. One of the teachers, he possessed brown hair and a nice enough face, took another redheads, who looked like the smaller girl's relative, hand, while she cried.

In the surrounding woods, concealed behind the leaves and the thick smoke rising from the burning building, a masked man chuckled quietly to himself, trying to suppress the anger that was threatening to boil over at failing his task. But, it was still progress. That wife-stealer was definitely shattered, and he'd managed to mess up that _wench_, that goddamn _bitch,_ pretty well, so…

He snickered a little again. Fiery hair, caught in a fucking fire. He hoped it had burnt the strands of her head. Served her right, anyway.

With a final scoff at everyone's foolishness, the man tore his eyes of the scene, and fled to start the next phase of his master plan.

Oh, yes. They would _pay_ for what they did to him. They would all pay.

.o.O.o.

Present time

_White. White walls, white bed, white air, white face, white body, cold, so, so cold, death, white, death, death warmed up, red. Red everywhere, red blood, red hair, red fire, red vision, so hot, so unbearably hot, pain, pain, oh so much pain, and I can't – I can't – I can't – _

Clary shot up in her bed, gasping. Another nightmare. Her . . . what was it? Third one this week? Fourth? No, it had to be at least the sixth… she didn't know anymore. She had already lost count. One week out of the hospital, and she still had them. Nothing helped. No matter what she did, they just wouldn't go away.

No, she still woke up screaming.

Clary sighed, and took a few deep gulps of air, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat. Sweat soaked her body, cold sweat, hot sweat, sticky, disgusting sweat, so much like her dream.

She swung her short (really, all of her was tiny) legs over the edge of the giant bed, fumbling for the lamp switch with only the slivers of moonlight coming in from behind the curtains to help her. Pale, shaking fingers found the cord triumphantly, and followed it until they reached the right part, and pressed down quickly. Yellow light flooded the room almost instantly, and Clary squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden change.

"Urgh.. .stupid hair…" the girl muttered, swatting at a few stray curls that were really starting to annoy her with their tickling around her neck and shoulders. If only she had a hair clip or something…

Another sigh.

Clary opened one of her eyes carefully, and when that went well, the other one quickly followed. Green orbs observed their surroundings. Same yellow walls as when she first arrived, only now they were covered in drawings, the desk with her sketchbook and Prismacolor pencils spread everywhere on the surface, clothes here and there on the carpet, a bookshelf inhabited by a few books.

She immediately went to her pencils. They were the only way to cope. Since the sun wasn't up yet, Clary figured it was around 3 am, and she knew from experience that sleep would not come again.

Shivering slightly in her cami and sleep shorts, the girl sat down in the chair, rotating a little from side to side. What to draw…?

A couple red strands of hair, the very same ones that were so very infuriating earlier, landed in front of her scrunched-up face. Two pale hands immediately swatted them away, but the stupid things came right back!  
_Well,_ a voice sounding suspiciously a like Isabelle said in her mind, _maybe hitting them wasn't the best approach._

"Oh, shut up", Clary growled, somehow getting pent up over something her inner Izzy had said.

A beautiful, low laugh sounded through the air. Clary's head swiveled around, trying to catch her "attacker" with a death glare. No such luck. The offending person just stood there, in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in question.

"Who are you talking to?" Jace asked, clearly amused at her expression. The whole situation kind of reminded him of her first day in the house, when he watched her draw, combined with the following night, where he met her in the yard.

Except, this time, he was actually _talking_ to her. Inside. Alone (well, kind of. Everyone else were asleep.). In her room.

_This night is just getting better and better_, Jace mused silently.

"I . . . I wasn't talking to anyone!" Clary exclaimed, clearly embarrassed at having been caught having a conversation with a mental Isabelle. She raised her gaze, which had been examining a remarkably interesting speck of dust on the carpet, and captured his eyes with a level stare, daring him to contradict her.

And, oh, how he was going to. Her looking at him like that really turned him on.

"Oh, really?" Jace stalked closer to the girl in the chair a few feet in front of him, like a predator would a prey. "Then what were you doing?"

Clary felt her heartbeat quicken with ever well-placed step he took. _Du-dum. Du-dum. Du-dum-du-dumdudumdudumdu – _

A rough, but still somehow amazingly gentle, hand caressed her cheek softly. It moved under his fingers, following her rapid breaths with deadly accuracy. The familiar sparks of electricity travelled from the spots where he touched her, coloring the once pale, creamy skin a wonderful shade of pink.

Clary's vivid, green orbs found Jace's, and they were caught. How she ever managed to look away from this – this _god_ – that was so very, very near, was . . . unbelievable.

Slowly, slowly, he inched his face even closer to hers, and she lowered her eyelids, awaiting the inevitable kiss. His lips met hers, softly, but it quickly escalated in intensity as Jace nibbled her lower lib and she moaned. A groan rumbled from deep in his throat in response, and Clary took ahold of his shirt and pulled him to her until he couldn't go any further. Nimble fingers made their way under the white fabric as longer ones returned the favor eagerly. Clary made another sound of sheer pleasure as Jace kissed her neck.

She had to forget. She needed to forget. _This was the only way to forget._

Hungrily, she pushed at his chest, and they tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs, toungues, lips, and lust. Jace lifted the grey, oversized t-shirt that stood in the way of exploring the rest of her body (he thanked God for Clary choosing to not wear shorts to bed), and Clary mewled. Her hands moved to unbutton his jeans, when something stopped her.

Beautiful, golden eyes looked into hers with an expression of grief and pain, making the redhead freeze in confusion.

"Wha-what? Don't-t you want this, too?" she stammered out, a few tears irrationally starting to slip down her cheeks. Jace sighed, and moved of her, kissing away the drops of water as he did so.

"God, Clary, you know I do, but . . . not like this. Not if you're just trying to forget. I don't want to take advantage of you like that, and frankly, I don't want to be taken advantage of, either. I love you, okay, and I definitely don't want to be some goddamn toy to make you feel other things than terror."

Clary's body stopped moving. He – loved her? Nobody had ever – _ever_ – loved her before. It was a nice feeling, she thought absentmindedly, warm, and pleasurable. Like Jace, she realized. She also realized that she loved him, too.

But the words she wanted to say weren't at all those that came out of her mouth.

"Please, Jace," she whispered sadly. "Please, just hold me. Just hold me one more time."


	18. Ninety nine Bottles of Beer

**A/N: Ehh... hi. Welcome back to me. I'm alive... yay.**

**PLEASE READ!**

**I have some things to tell you. Well, this is mostly about me not updating. I haven't felt like writing, and I probably won't for a while, so I won't be updating very often. I know many of you probably don't think this story is worth the wait, considering the shortness and all-over crappiness of my chapters, and most of you probably think I'm just really lazy. I am. But my updates will come when I feel like it, it might be only one day between the, and it might be a month, I don't know. I'm really sorry.**

**On to a happier note; I LOVE YOU! Seriously, you guys are awesome, and I love you, and I love you A LOT! Happy easter! kill me if you want to.**

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal INstruments.**

* * *

One, two, three.

Three, four, five.

Five, six, seven…

Yes, seven would be enough.

Or, well, six, now, the man thought as he began to etch letters in the slab of stone before him.

L . . . J . . . A . . . I . . . J . . . C . . .

M.

He laughed manically, and put the chisel to work again, until he deemed his work worthy enough to keep.

M

Instead of the plain M that had been no different from the other six letters, there was now an M with a deep slash across it.

"Oh, yes ," he murmured in a high-pitched voice. "One down, six to go. Isn't there some kind of song for this?" he pondered aloud. Then his face lit up with a content smirk, black eyes gleaming with what could only be described as "mental instability".

"Seven bottles of beer on a wall, seven bottles of beer,

Take one down, smash it around,

Six bottles of beer on a wall" His voice echoed through the dark, empty room, emitting from the only source of light, a small, dirty lamp shining on a white-haired man and something eerily similar to a headstone.

"Although, the word bodies is probably more accurate in this case," he continued.

And if you were to pass an abandoned classroom in the Alicante Institute that night, you would have spent your whole life hearing a ghost-like voice singing "Ninety nine bottles of beer" in your nightmares.

"_Take one down, smash him around, six dead bodies are left on a wall."_

.o.O.o.

The Lightwood residence

0354 hours

"Ninety nine bottles of beer on a wall, ninety nine bottles of beer," Clary sang loudly as she and Jace lay next to each other on her bed, her head resting on his (shirtless) chest.

"Clary," Jace groaned tiredly, starting to grow annoyed at her singing. She'd been at it for _hours._ Or, well, a few minutes, but same same. It was disturbing. And he needed sleep badly. "Clary, seriously, shut up."

Said girl giggled drunkenly and slapped the arm that was wrapped around her waist. "I thought you looooved me," she pouted, and Jace sighed.

He made a promise with himself to never, ever, give her alcohol again. Even if it was just to take her mind off of everything that'd happened, it was a, well…

A complete disaster.

The girl kept flailing around, laughing at nothing and everything, and trying to kiss him (normally he wouldn't have minded that last part, but this time was an exception). She'd even attacked him, for God's sake!

This needed to come to an end. Now.

"Yeah, yeah, Clary. But, you know, if you're not quiet, then the monsters will come get you," he told her seriously, and she gasped, horrorstruck. It was too dark to really see anything besides contours, but Jace would have bet anything that her (beautiful) eyes were almost as open as her mouth.

"Oh . . . okay. I'll be –" Clary rolled off him, taking the covers with her and leaving him out in the cold air wearing only a pair of sweats. " – quiet. Shh." Jace felt a finger tracing a line along his jaw, up to his nose, where it was joined by a thumb.

She _tweaked_ his _nose_.

He twitched, and let out another deep sigh (and swore to keep her hands off all and any kinds of liquor).

"G'night, Jace," she murmured into his ear, the light puff of breath making his skin heat up considerably. "Don't –" She yawned. "Let the –" Another yawn. "Monsters take you."

One final, tiny yawn, followed by a snore.

She was asleep.

_I thought you loved me._

_I do._

_Do you love me?_

.o.O.o.

Isabelle was tired. So, so tired. Of what, you ask? Well, the answer was simple enough.

She was tired of the world.

Tired of everybody judging her by her looks, tired of people faking friendship so that they could get to her brothers, or maybe just to take advantage of her wealth.

She let out a deep breath, creating gusts of steam that danced towards the night sky. She watched, fascinated, as they became less and less pronounced – until she exhaled again, bringing the cycle back to the start.

In, out.

Isabelle was not at home, which might not have been the safest thing ever, considering it was around 4 am, but she didn't care. She just had to get away. Jace and Clary were being all lovey-dovey (yes, she knew about them. Hard not to, considering the way they acted around each other), her parents were away on a "romantic weekend" to renew their love for each other or something, and God knew what Alec and Magnus were up to.

The point was, that they were all _together._ They cared for their respective partners, and _Isabelle just couldn't stand it._

She had no-one.

No-one loved her.

Sure, she wasn't exactly a virgin, but those were just short flings with people who were only with her for her body.

Sometimes, she just couldn't help but wonder . . . was she just so horrible that nobody ever even tried to get to know her?

She sighed again, and brought her knees closer to her chest before drawing the dark, wool cloak she was wearing tighter around her body. Long, black locks of hair fell forward around her extraordinarily beautiful face, the moonlight seeping in through the trees making the whole scene look almost otherworldly.

Which is how he found her.

"Why are you hanging around in the woods at this hour, little girl? Something bad could happen to you," a deep, obviously male voice called from the path that went behind her. Isabelle turned her head a little bit, and saw a man, she guessed about her age, stepping towards her. His face and body were still in the shadows, making it impossible to discern anything other than his height and build – but Isabelle knew men well, and could get a lot of information only from a few words.

Two, maybe three, years older than her. Not from around here, that was certain, and the lilt of his tone suggested he was very sure of himself – and something else, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Something that deeply terrified her.

"'Little girl'? I'm what? Two years younger than you? Better get your facts straight, little boy," she taunted him, while simultaneously moving her legs to get up.

Isabelle had a very bad feeling about this, and she knew she had to get home. Her house was only about a quarter of a mile away – if she ran now, she could probably make it.

He was by her side in an instant, holding her arms in an iron grip. He crouched down, and put his lips next to her ear. Isabelle shivered.

"Running away, little girl? You should. You never know who might come along, or what they might do to you," he whispered, and Isabelle struggled against him, without success. A large hand came up behind her, and ground her face into the hard, frozen ground, the sharp edges pine needle pricking her skin uncomfortably.

Isabelle knew how to fight. But, cold and immobilized, she was useless against this man. Defenseless.

Weak.

With a sudden burst of power, she threw he head back against his hand, surprising him. But he soon had ahold of her again. This time, though, her mouth was free, and she used this to her advantage.

With a quick twist, she turned, and spit in his face.

"Why you –" he swore, but Isabelle was faster.

"Who the fuck are you, you freak!?" she shouted at him, screaming out in pain when he moved a knee to her back, pressing her down roughly.

"If you must know, my name is Jonathan Morgenstern. And you've made me very angry, you bitch."  
Then, everything went black.

Every time Isabelle Lightwood thought back to what happened that night, a certain part of a certain song echoed through her mind.

"_Take one down, smash her around, five dead bodies are left on a wall." _

.o.O.o.

At this moment, Alexander Gideon Lightwood was a very happy man.

(That was about to change.)

Humming some sappy love song, he took his keys out of the pocket of his black leather jacket, pausing for a moment to enjoy the sun on his face before using them to open the front door.

Still singing, he swung his jeans clad hips slightly to the imaginary beat (seriously, blame Magnus) while he walked into the house.

"'Cause you're amazing. Just the way you a –"

Alec stopped short, the jacket he was in the midst of taking off hanging forgotten from one of his arms.

The house was a mess.

The pillows of the couch were lying on the floor in front of the TV, what small part he could see of the kitchen was covered in broken glass and porcelain, and, in the middle of all this chaos, lay a note, with a lock of black hair attached to it.

The memories hit him like swift, hard punches to the stomach, and he clawed at his throat, attempting to get the ability to breathe back. He was flying, falling off a cliff, drowning in the emotions he had tried so hard to shut down.

A strangled "Jace" was the only sound he could squeeze out before he fell unconscious.

_Same house, same scene. Fourteen soon-to-be-fifteen Alec Lightwood enters the house with his best friend and foster brother, Jace. The house is completely trashed. There is almost nothing recognizable about it. In the center of the living room lies a piece of paper. The two boys rush to it, and the dark-haired one stumbles back into the other's chest once he reads what is written. Jace has seen it, too._

_Attached to the paper are a few strands of brown hair._

…

"_We are sorry to tell you this, Mr. Lightwood, but your youngest has not yet been found. We have investigated the note and all other possible leads, but we cannot find him. You might want to keep this information away from the ears of your children, for now, anyway. "_

…

"_Mrs. Lightwood, you may want to sit down. We have found you son – no, please sit down, this is nothing to be excited about – but he is not . . . alive. I am very sorry that you have to hear this. I advise that you keep your children inside the house for a while, we have some very disturbing evidence that suggests the killer might come after your other children, now."_

…

_Alec was never supposed to hear those conversations. But he did._

_He never forgave whoever did this to his family._

_And he never forgot._

* * *

**_PLEASE READ THE A/N AT THE TOP!_**


	19. Clary plus Alcohol equals Kidnappings!

**A/N: Hulloa, Az! I'm just chillin here with my LAPTOP (never had one of these on my room, before...** **now i can watch Naruto in bed!)**

**That came out wrong.**

**Anyway, this is the new chapter for Foster Child (whooooo) and I'm revved up cause I just ate a bunch of fire. Heh. Just kidding... I just wanted to thank you all for being so unconditionally AWESOME; and, you know, remind you that I love you, and stuff ;)**

**I'm hyper :P**

**Happy late birthday to meeee! How old do you think I am now? :P I'm so mature y'know, so y'all probably think I'm like ten or something... but that's okay, cu if I were ten, I'd be a mega-genius and rule the earth! BAZINGA!**

**Disclaimer: i don't own the Mortal Instruments, yada yada yada, can we get on with the story now?**

**Report all typos and/or incorrect grammar-thingies!  
Happy birthday to yoooooou!**

* * *

"Jace!"

The strangled cry woke said boy out of his slumber. He cracked an eye open tiredly, then proceeded to extract himself from the arm his foster sister/girlfriend had wrapped around his waist sometime during their sleep. A few long strands of red hair had fallen onto his face, and as he sat up they brushed lightly against his chest before landing on the sheets covering both of their bodies. Jace followed their path with golden irises dulled by exhaustion from staying up practically all night with a drunk Clary (who had finally stopped giggling and passed out at around five a.m.), and took in the sight of his (_his) _fire-headed vixen.

When she woke up, there was going to be hell to pay. He knew it with a frightening certainty.

However, right now, there were more pressing matters to attend to. The voice that'd screamed his name had been Alec's.

Alec rarely even _spoke_ louder than a whisper (except, of course, for the times where he was annoyed, angry, _with_ Magnus, or talking about Magnus), so what he had just heard worried him immensely. The last time Alec had sounded so desperate had been –

No.

_Don't._

_No use remembering stuff like that._

Jace removed the covers from his body as he stood up from the bed, making sure to tuck Clary in before walking out of his room towards where Alec's voice had come from. He almost shivered on impulse from the cold air hitting his bare skin (he was only wearing a pair of black sweatpants, after all) and made his way down the stairs.

When he reached the tenth step, he stopped cold.

From that way on, the house was a mess. Pillows and blankets from the couch littered the floor, photo frames from all of their childhood were thrown around without care, on some of them the glass had even shattered, causing dangerous shards to glint in the morning sun. One of them reflected the light right into his eyes, and Jace squinted, not wanting to look away from the scene.

This was all so familiar.

The broken cups and plates in the kitchen, the trashed living room, hell, even the note laying clear as day in it's own little bubble, the only place untouched by the war that had apparently played out during the night.

The only thing that discerning it from the Incident three years earlier, was the fact that Alec was on the floor, out like a light.

And, of course, that _he_ was dead. They could never take him again, because they'd killed him.

Pure, unadulterated rage began to boil in Jace's body, and he unfroze from his spot on the staircase to maneuver his way to Alec's unconscious body.

Or, well, started to maneuver his way to Alec's unconscious body. When he was about halfway there, something caught his eye, and he crouched down to investigate it further.

It was that white slip of paper, again. Just like – just like last time, there was a small cluster of hair attached to it, except it was a tiny, tiny bit darker now, and an infinite amount more glossy.

_Isabelle._

The name rose unbidden in his mind, and festered in there like a disease, until he was unable to think of anything other than his sister.

_Oh, God, oh God oh God, they got Isabelle, they got her, they've got her with them right now, and God, what the hell am I gonna do, it's her, I know it is, what are they going to do to her?_

The rambling of his thoughts was put to an end as Jace pulled on the golden locks atop his head roughly, if only to calm the ruckus inside his head.

_Okay, Jace, focus. You need to see if it's actually her before you start freaking out, _a voice that reminded him of both Clary and Maryse said in a calming manner. He decided to listen to this advice, and brought a hand shaking like a leaf (there went his manly pride) to the note. His fingers clasped it tightly, crinkling the thin paper to the point of tearing.

He flipped it over so that he could see the side previously pressed against the wooden floor.

His heart stopped beating for a second as he read the words written in red ink, once, twice, three times he skimmed through it before his blood decided to end this whole not-doing-anything deal, and instead pound faster and harder than ever.

_Oh, my, such a pretty little slut we have here. Feisty, too._

_Maybe we'll actually have some use for this one before she ends up like darling Max._

_Remember?_

_Meet us at his grave at the Angel's fall, and you might get her back in one piece._

.o.O.o.

Clary had a nightmare for the first time ever since the Halloween party.

She dreamt that her dad and brother came back for her, Jocelyn leading the way, and made her come back "home".

She dreamt that Jace saw them approaching and smiled, not smirked, at them – but somehow, that made the whole thing so much worse.

Because, the boy that she had come to love in the short time she'd spent with the Lightwoods handed her over like she was nothing, giving her a small wave as her so-called family took her away, the setting sun making him so beautiful it hurt her.

And then, that drawing popped up. The one she'd been so freaked out over at the hospital.

For some reason, Clary felt that she suddenly understood exactly what that particular sketch meant, but the moment of insight passed quickly, seeing as she woke up.

The lack of warmth she felt was disconcerting.

During the weeks since October ended and November began, she had gotten used to Jace's body beside her own, and not having him there, well . . .

Something was definitely up (especially since she was in _his_ bed, not hers).

Trying – and failing – to keep in the mother of all yawns, she sat up and stretched, feeling the joints in her back pop pleasurably back into place. She squeaked as she did this, because, really, if you didn't, there was no point in doing it, at all.

Moving on.

As soon as she was done making funny noises and musing about why they were so awesome, Clary noticed the overwhelming pounding in her head.

(Then, of course, she wondered how the hell she'd missed it in the first place.)

Groaning, she flopped back down onto the mattress, burying her face in a big, soft pillow and thanking whatever deity up there that Jace hadn't decided to open the blinds, instead choosing not to close the door after his obvious departure from the room, letting the natural light streaming in from the windows at each end of house enter. It was still annoying, but nowhere near as annoying as it would have been if he had gone with the first option.

Which led her to the next question.

Jace had obviously known she was going to feel like crap, otherwise he wouldn't have done what he did to ensure she didn't, well, die from a killer hangover getting ten times worse.

Or, he'd gotten wasted as well, but Clary didn't consider that to be a likely option, seeing as he was not in the bed with her.

(Or maybe he had just been in a hurry, and didn't have time to go all the way to the window.)

However, that was not what she wanted an answer to (even though she hadn't even asked anything in that last statement). No.

It led as follows:

Why the _hell_ was she hung-over? She made a point of only consuming alcohol at parties, and even though she had some nice holes in her memory, there was no way there'd been one last night. Had Jace given her liquor on _purpose_?

If that was the case, he was going down.

As soon as she got some more sleep, that is.

Face still deep in the plush, white pillow, she fell back into the realm of dreams, long, red tresses spread like the arms of an octopus all over Jace's bed.

Lovely…

.o.O.o.

Thump. Thump.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump_thump._

Fists smashed hard against the slab of wood above them, trying helplessly to move it further away from their owner, a girl of some sixteen or seventeen years. Nothing happened.

The damn thing just wouldn't _move._

Panting, panicked breaths filled the musty air as the young woman grew more and more desperate. She had never been good with small spaces, and this was a very god example of that. The only thing she could do with her body right now was to pound her fists against that lid-like thing, but it was all futile. Nothing changed, other than the fact that she grew more and more tired by ever passing second. Soon, she would be past exhausted.

Soon, she would be . . . she didn't want to think about it.

"Please, help me!" she wailed, but all that answered her was silence.

The oxygen was beginning to grow thin.

Her inhales and exhales were even shorter than before, because she was hyperventilating. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. Somebody had to have noticed she was missing, right? So why hadn't they rescued her, yet?

"_Help!_"

It was useless. The help she was crying out for would never come. She was going to die, right then, right there, and for the first time in three years, the girl cried. Her hair clung tight to her forehead, damp with sweat, and it only grew wetter with the tears that were now streaming openly down her face. This was the end.

Isabelle Lightwood was being buried alive.


	20. Hi, Dad

**A/N: Erm... Hello! I...I... It's been about a month, hasn't it? Oops... sorry :/ Really, I am. Just couldn't bring myself to write, which is probably the reason as to why this chapter is so indescribably sucky. And short. Kind of. Sorry.**

**I just wanted you to know (again) that I LOVE YOU! EVERY SINGLE ON OF YOU! I ALSO LOVE CAPS LOCK!**

**Report all typos, spelling mistakes and/or grammatical errors.**

**Chapter dedicated to: Uchiha Itachi, cuz even though he's just a fictional character (sob) he's FREAKIN AWESOME! UCHIHA POWER!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments. Or Uchiha Itachi. Or Naruto.**

**Cue sobbing.**

* * *

_Ten minutes earlier_

Soft footsteps sounded quietly against the wooden floor. They stopped for half a second, hesitating, before continuing on their way, this time down the staircase.

Jace closed his eyes for a moment, listening, before opening them again and turning towards the person now standing at the bottom of the stairs, with her small hands clutching the railing so hard the knuckles were turning white.

"What happened here?" Clary whispered, shaking, eyes wide, a bright, almost luminous, green against her pale, freckled skin. Her hair was tousled, wild, the result of a crazy, alcohol-filled night, and Jace couldn't help but notice how impossibly gorgeous she was wearing only one of his black t-shirts, reaching almost down to her knees and leaving the rest of her creamy legs bare.

But this wasn't the time. This wasn't the time at all.

"I don't have time to explain everything right now," he said, "but all you need to know is that someone broke in, and Isabelle is in danger." He wasn't trying to scare her more, not at all, but she needed to understand a little of what was happening right now.

And what was happening right now was that they needed to hurry the _fuck_ up, or Isabelle would be killed. But to do that, he needed to figure out what that damn note meant, and he couldn't figure it out for the life of him.

Clary stepped carefully across the floor to where Alec's unconscious body was and crouched, putting her fingers lightly on his forehead trying to figure out what was wrong with him. Jace watched silently, calm on the outside but panicking on the inside.

"Where are Maryse and Robert?" she asked him, her voice betraying none of the emotions displayed clearly in her emerald orbs. For some reason Jace couldn't understand (because, really, what man can get anything someone of the opposite sex does?) she looked sadly out the window, squinting against the sun's glare.

"Business trip. They won't be back for at least a week." He rose from his crouched position (dignified men do not crawl) and walked to her, putting a heavy hand on her shoulder before handing her the note.

Maybe she would be able to figure it out. But he doubted it. She – sweet, innocent little Clary – couldn't have anything to do with this. Right?

To his immense surprise, she reacted to the words written by flying up from the floor, Alec all but forgotten, and running towards the door where all of their shoes stood lined up neatly.

"I don't know what the 'his grave' part means, but if we have to be there by the Angel's fall, we need to go fast."

Jace followed her slowly, confused, but snapping out of it quickly when a new voice joined the conversation.

"What does the note say?" Alec questioned calmly, showing no signs of his previous state as he, too, rose and walked to where Clary stood. Said girl gave him a determined stare before reciting the words written neatly on the little slip of paper in an unfeeling monotone.

"Oh, my, such a pretty little slut we have here. Feisty, too. Maybe we'll actually have some use for this one before she ends up like darling Max. Remember? Meet us at his grave by the Angel's fall, and you might get her back in one piece."

Alec's body started shaking with rage. His face took on a red hue, and Jace swore his eyes were becoming some kind of electricity.

He had never seen Alec this angry before.

"We know where it is," Jace interjected before Alec could get a single curse word out of his mouth at the language used to describe Isabelle. "And, luckily, it's not too far away, either."

A car passed outside in the silence that followed, and the sunlight played with the shadows in the room, giving Clary's doll-like face a mournful-but-still-so-damn-irresistible look. Jace's eyes winded further down her body, and widened at the returning realization of what she was wearing. Sure, he was only in pajamas himself, but sweats and a t-shirt was really much better than what she had on…

"We have to go very soon, but for God's sake, Clary, put some damn clothes on first!"

The girl looked down, surprised, before a red blush stained her cheeks.

"O-oh… right. I'll just . . . go get some pants, then."

.o.O.o.

_Present time_

Chirping birds. Shining sun. A sky so clear, so blue, that barely a cloud was in sight, a huge contrast against the tall, looming trees painted in fiery shades of fall. Crisp, unusually warm November air, still holding a bit of the morning's chill even though it was one minute to noon.

The sound of shovels digging deep into the earth, disrupting the peaceful calm provided by the birds. Cigarette smoke puffed up in tiny, grey clouds, staining the vivid colors a shade lighter, less bright. The shovels stopped. A coffin (which was screaming and emitting loud, knocking noises) was sunk down into the large hole they had made, and a bit of dirt from the huge pile beside it was dropped down until the wooden box was covered entirely by it. Two men, so similar to each other in looks it was almost impossible to tell the difference, shared a brief glance, and nodded to each other.

It was time.

Three figures suddenly made themselves known at the towering, gothic gates of the cemetery, two boys (one fair-hared and one with dark locks and electric, blue eyes) and one girl (who sported large, innocent green orbs and a head full of seemingly almost flammable tresses). They looked out of breath, panting like there was no tomorrow, but still, they kept moving, never hesitating, an identical look of serious determination clouding their features.

The clock struck twelve.

One of the men – from the looks of it, probably the eldest – took a few steps forward until he reached a certain grave among the masses of many. It did not take long until the three teenagers arrived at the same spot. The girl was obviously panicking, eyes wide and filling with tears, her entire body trembling. Her companions were starting to notice, but paid no heed – they probably thought her to be reacting to the situation in its whole.

But, oh, how wrong they were.

The lone male (with hair so white it looked like snow, and eyes the complete opposite) opened his smirking mouth to speak, and the words carried across the otherwise empty graveyard.

"Long time no see, Clarissa," he said, black eyes locked on the short girl. She gasped and spluttered, and it wasn't long until her knees gave out and she hit the ground with a _thump._

"Y-you," she managed to get out, her voice so weak they all had to strain to hear her.

One of the boys (the fair-haired one), kneeled beside her, and put one hand soothingly on her shoulder. "Clary?" he asked, obviously confused. "Clary, do you know this man?"

She did not get a chance to answer, for before she could even start shaping the words with her tongue, another voice interrupted.

"Oh, so she hasn't told you, has she?" The man sounded smug, and if you listened closely, you could hear the sound of a deep, amused chuckle coming from about thirty feet behind the group.

Of course, they all were.

"Told me _what?_"

Angry. The boy was very, _very_ angry, and it showed. His jaw was clenched, his fists doing the same, and the eyes that normally only displayed arrogance or indifference were radiating fury. A cough sounded from below him, and he looked down, suddenly a lot more gentle – but still clearly enraged.

"T-told you that . . . that . . ." She broke off, unable to say anything more than those few syllables.

Another laugh, and the party of three turned towards the older male again.

A breeze blew softly across the cemetery, taking a few fallen leaves with it, a scene more fitting a movie than reality as the words the girl had so dreaded were drawled out like it was no big deal.

Like it wouldn't ruin everything she had managed to find during her stay in this small, cursed town of Idris.

"My dear daughter, why won't you just let your friends here know who you really are?" He turned towards the shocked faces of the two boys. "What Clarissa here is trying to say, is that I'm her father. Valentine Morgenstern, pleased to make your acquaintance."


	21. The Facepalm of Epic Proportions

**A/N: Okay. Here it is. The suckiest chapter I have ever written. Please, just kill me and spare me of this horrible writing. I hate my stories, I really do. They're just so awful. Which is why, btw, I just deleted Afraid completely. But I'll finish this one, soon, I promise, but it won't be pretty. Right now, though, I don't give a fuck. Seriously. **

**For all of you who read this story, INFINITE LOVE, HUGS AND KISSES FOR YOU!**

**I DON'T OWN THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS! SUPRIIIIIISE!**

**...LDKDPE...**

_Recap: "My dear daughter, why won't you just let your friends here know who you really are?" He turned towards the shocked faces of the two boys. "What Clarissa here is trying to say, is that I'm her father. Valentine Morgenstern, pleased to make your acquaintance."_

.o.O.o.

APOV

Alec was shocked. No, he was more than shocked, he was surprised, he was mortified, he was fucking _pissed._

This man, this monster who had killed his brother, threatened his family and kidnapped his sister, was related to _Clary_, sweet, innocent Clary with a dark past but a bright future, the only girl to ever get Jace to give her more than a glare and a bedroom invitation? No. _Impossible._

But he knew it wasn't. Just looking at her made that fact painfully obvious. One glance at her whimpering, trembling form and the deal was sealed.

She was his daughter.

Alec hissed. "You fucking bitch," he whispered, unable to control himself even though he knew none of this was her fault. She turned around to look at him, green eyes shining with unshed tears, and he faltered in his anger for a brief second before turning it on the more worthy foe. "I'm going to rip you to goddamn pieces!" This time it was directed at the (oldest) white-haired man standing in front of them with his lips painted in a smug smirk.

"Oh? Well, I wish you all the luck with that, but first, I'd like to tell you something you might find . . . _interesting._"

Dark eyes met electric blue in a staring contest where the winner was obvious even before it had begun.

"Fine," Alec relented, crossing his arms in an attempt to look intimidating.

(And, you know, it was _cold_ all of a sudden. Seriously, where the fuck did the sun go? But Alec, though admittedly homosexual, was a _man_, dammit, and men do not during any circumstances show the fact that the cutting wind actually does affect them. No, sir.)

"Well, I just couldn't help but notice that you all seem pretty eager to get to the woman we currently have in our . . . possession. So I'll make you a deal. You –" he made a sweeping hand gesture towards Alec and Jace " –give me _her –" _this time, he pointed a bony finger at Clary " –and lovely Isabelle is free to go."

Alec mulled this over. On one hand, Clary was his foster sister, and they had no concrete evidence that Izzy was in the cemetery. Which all added up to the logical decision being taking Clary and getting out of there before things got ugly.

On the other hand, though, that was his real sister they were talking about, and Clary was possibly in league with these men who had taken Isabelle, she was a liar, and they didn't exactly have any concrete evidence that Izzy _wasn't_ there, right?

And also, fuck logic, that was his damn _sister _they were talking about!

But before he could voice his thoughts, another voice interrupted.

"If you think you're even laying a finger on her then you are even stupider than I thought."

CPOV

"_Daddy?"_

"_Yes, Clare-bear?"_

"_Are angels real?"_

"_Of course they are, honey, why wouldn't they?"_

"_The other kids say angels are made up."_

"_Well, then the other kids are stupid. You're living proof that they exist, Clary."_

"_Really!?"_

"_Of course. You know that your first surname means 'fair child', right?"_

"_Yup. But what's that got to do with anything?"_

"_The second one, the one you got from me, means 'Morning Star', and originates from way back when Adam and Eve were still alive. Then, there lived an Angel called Lucifer, who was God's right hand, and God even gave him the name 'Morning Star' as a show of his love for this angel."_

"_Wow, daddy, that's so cool! But what happened to Lucifer? You said he 'lived' there, not lives. So where did he go?"_

"_After a while, Lucifer went mad with power and tried to overthrow God himself, but instead, he fell from Heaven down to Hell."_

"_That's so sad, daddy. I bet if they gave him another chance, Lucifer would be a good angel again, right?"_

"_Sure, sweetie."_

"_Hey daddy?"_

"_What?"_

"_At what time did Lucifer fall?"_

"_I-I don't really . . . Clare-bear, you have to go inside now, it's almost eleven and your mother wanted to talk to you before your cousins arrive."_

"_Why do I have to be inside by eleven? That's so early! I want to stay outside with you!"_

"_Err… well, you see, Lucifer fell at exactly eleven a.m., and if you are not inside by the Angel's fall, when the gates between the earth, Heaven and Hell are at their thinnest, you might get sucked down right there with him!"_

"_Oh by the Angel, that's scary! I've got to go now, daddy!"_

"_By the Angel . . . ?"_

…

Clary couldn't believe what was happening. Or, well, she could, kind of, since the note clearly talked about "the Angel's fall" as a time. That was clearly her dad.

But why the heck did people from her past keep popping up everywhere? She'd been trying so hard just to forget, and was finally starting to, when Luke showed up. Then her mom. After that, of course, came the fire, which generally seemed to have messed her mind up (here is where she became acutely aware of her God awful hangover again), and following that wonderful display came –

Jonathan. Valentine. Her brother. Her _Father._

The two people who had betrayed her the most, caused her the most agony, because they were the two people she had loved more than anything.

Stuck in her musings, Clary wasn't really aware of anything other than her life was going to hell until a few words were uttered that made her hyper-attentive:

"If you think you're even laying a finger on her then you are even stupider than I thought."

Confusion. That was definitely the first emotion she registered. And, coincidentally, it was also the one that made her utter what might have been the stupidest, most moronic thing she had ever said in her life (except for that time when she – no. Not telling anybody about that.).

"Eh? What're you talkin' about, Jace?"

They all stared at her like she was mad, even Jonathan stopped his standing-in-the-background-looking-evil-but-badass -ing to give her a disdainful once-over.

The second emotion she registered was a little harder to describe with one word, but easy enough with three:

_Kill. Me. Now._

JPOV

As soon as Clary opened her mouth, Jace wanted to sigh. Or groan. Or facepalm.

Or all three at the same time.

But, of course, he stayed where he was, bent protectively in front of Clary, head bent at an odd angle just to give her the same "WTF" look she was receiving from everyone else.

He didn't want to feel lonely by being the only person not doing it, right?

Turning back to Valentine, he attempted to control the overwhelming emotions the man evoked within him. This did not work our very well, and as a result, his entire, god-like (because you can never love yourself too much) body started shaking with barely contained rage.

This person, this _monster_, was going down.

But, first, he needed to save Isabelle. Without any harm coming to Clary.

Now, how to go about that?

The eerie silence now reigning over the majority of the "conversation" enveloped the graveyard, joining forces with the chilling wind to create a scene of suspense belonging in a Hollywood movie, as Jace thought this problem over.

Only one option came to mind, but he wasn't very sure Valentine was going to accept it.

"Give Isabelle back and I'll do anything you want me to, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone besides me."


	22. S&M, JonVal Style

**A/N: So, I kind of felt I had to apologize for my ...ahem... behavior yesterday. I was a bitch,and I'm sorry. I was just in a really, really, REALLY bad mood... yeah. So, I had a really long morning today cuz classes for me start at 11.50 this particular Monday (yayyyyy!) so I decided to write. And this may be sucky, it may be good, I don't know, but this, my dear friends, is for the 17 new emails I had in my inbox today when I woke up! I was so friggen HAPPY! You guys are so AWESOME and I LOVE YOU and MARABOU COOKIES AND CREAM CHOCOLATE FOR YOU!**

**Also, shoutout to Agent Get Amy And Ian Together, because she is always the first to review and she's just plain awesome. She deserves a whole shipload of Marabou chocolate and kiwis, cuz that's just how amazing she is.**

**I**

**am**

**HYPER!**

**Disclaimer: I d not own the Mortal Instruments, yada yada yada, here ya go you beautiful people who I love!**

**FYI, I HAVE NOT CHECKED THIS AT ALL, SO REPORT ALL MISTAKES AND DON'T DIE WHILE DOING IT!**

* * *

Isabelle could feel the rough surface of the wooden coffin grating against her skin as she struggled fruitlessly against her confinement, could feel her clothes becoming soaked with sweat from the panic that had already welled up within her, could feel how her hair was plastered to her face like glue. She could hear voices coming from the outside, could recognize them, could tell that they were people she knew and people she didn't.

What she could not do, however, was breathe.

It wasn't so much the fact that the small space was running out of oxygen – because she had figured out long ago that what she had believed to be a burial six feet under turned out to be more like a half – as it was her claustrophobia taking a hold of her. It was kind of embarrassing, really, how affected she was. The "walls" (if you could call it that) of the coffin were closing in on her, trapping her, ensnaring her within their darkness forever.

Her breaths grew quicker.

Thoughts came in blurred flashes, the only thing registering in her mind the absolute fear that was rapidly enveloping her. Frantically, she clawed at the lid for the _n_th time, but to no avail.

If she had been able to transfer any kind of air into her lungs, she would have screamed.

But, alas, Isabelle Lightwood couldn't do that, either, and so, the silent torture continued.

.o.O.o.

Jonathan was by Valentine's side in an instant, his cold, black eyes staring calculatingly at Jace. Clary knew that look, had seen it countless times before, but it still scared the shit out of her every time her brother chose to wear it.

Because it was really. Freaking. _Scary_. For shizz.

"Take you instead?" he asked, voice carefully blank. His gaze slid to Clary for a second, and he sneered. "But that would take all the fun out of it, right, _Clare-bear."_

_Clare-bear._

The name was like a punch straight to the stomach. How many times hadn't she heard it being called out to her before, before they'd abandoned her, before she had been disowned, before Simon, before Jace? Before, before, before.

Clary's knees gave out underneath her, and no one was there to stop the fall.

…

The second he heard her body hit the ground, Jace knew.

Knew what?

Knew what had to be done.

He loved her, that much was certain. She was his "sister", but he loved her.

Did she love him back?

He didn't know. She hadn't answered, back then, nor any other time where he'd snuck a peek at her through the corner of his eyes just see if she was looking his way. Because, maybe, if he looked into those bright pools of green he adored so much for a long enough time then they would tell him the answer.

They hadn't though, which is why . . .

Which is why, when he heard her voice, rough with tears that tore on his inside but not his outside, he did nothing to stop her.

"Please . . . take me, not him. I don't know what you've done to the Lightwoods before now, but I'm the one you want. I'm begging you, daddy, just give Isabelle back, and I'll come with you."

Dripp, dropp, dripp. The time it took for three crystalline teardrops to fall from pale, freckled cheeks to the ground was all they needed to make their decision.

"The girl is in the grave over there. I suggest you hurry with digging her up – she's suffocating."

Then.

Then.

Then.

Then Jonathan and Valentine grabbed Clary's arms, and their "love" was no more.

.o.O.o.

The first thing she noticed when she regained consciousness was the freshness of the air. She inhaled deeply, before blinking sluggishly and moving a sweaty hand to protect her against the sudden, too-bright sunlight.

The second thing she noticed was her brothers faces looking down on her worriedly, but with clear relief painted all over their expressions.

"Thank God, Izzy. We thought you were dead!" Alec exclaimed, his eyes shining suspiciously with what he would later claim to be allergies.

The third thing she noticed was the absence of red hair and freckles.

"Hey, guys . . . where's Clary?"

The following silence did everything and nothing to answer her question.

.o.O.o.

The darkness was blinding, and Clary had the urge to squint. It was a silly thing to do, of course, but she did it anyway because what else was there to do in a room where you can't see anything?

"Hello?" she asked tentatively.

Nothing called back, but she knew they were there. As soon as her father and brother had dragged her out of the cemetery they'd thrust a bag over her head to (obviously) make sure she didn't notice where they were going, and thrown her into what felt like a very big car – and from what she'd heard, a very noisy one at that. Then, once they had stopped, she had been manhandled brutally between the two as they walked to God-knows-where, the abuse only stopping when they reached their destination and ventured inside, well, _something._ Duh, she couldn't very well just look up and see what it was, right? She had a friggen _bag_ over her eyes.

Which brought her to her current predicament. At least when she was outside there had been _some_ light that had managed to filter through the fabric covering her skull, but now, there was nothing. Nada. Zilch. And on top of that, no one was even bothering to answer her when she talked to them!

The nerve of some people. Seriously.

But Clary hadn't heard Jonathan and Valentine's footsteps since they had put her (in a very degrading manner, she might add) on the – dirty – floor. Which, for the ones of you who do not possess enough brainpower to figure it out, meant they were _still there._

_And it was even scarier than Jonathan's Evil Eyes._

"I know you're there, dad, Jon. Stop hiding from me – it's not like I can do anything, what with the whole 'hey-let's-blindfold-our-sister-slash-daughter' thing." She was proud that she had managed that whole sequence without wither starting to sob or hyperventilate. She'd thought she knew these people, knew how they worked. She had lived with them for more than half her life, after all.

But no. This was not the Jonathan she knew, nor the father she had loved so much even when he didn't even acknowledge her existence. So, without further ado, she asked the question she had been yearning to find out the answer to since she had been six and her family stopped talking to her, the question she had spent countless nights lying awake and agonizing over.

"Why, daddy? Why did you do it? Why did you abandon me?"

This time, there was nothing to stop the tears from coming, because her pride had been tossed away the second she had uttered the first syllable.


	23. Insanity and JAHI

**A/N: Domo, domo! Helloooou my dear friiiiiiends slash readers slash most awesome people ever! Sorry for the wait, and sorry that there isn't any extra length to make up for it and eve more sorry that it's so freaky/weird/creepy/STUPID but anyway, I hope y'all liiike it. Cuz I liiiiike you. I looooove you a lot, cuz you're all awesome!  
**

**ATTENTION ALL READERS: I probably won't be updating for over a month, I'm going away for a while - first to Mallorca, and then to the US. I have some time in between vacations though, I think, so I might update anyway. Stay tuned, or don't stay tuned, but just BE WHO YOU AAAAAARE AND LOOOOOOVE IT! Or maybe not. I don't like people who are in love with their own reflection, but whatever.**

**I DON'T OWN THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS, YOU STUPID PROBABLY NON-EXISTENT LAWYERS!**

* * *

Clary raised her head pitifully to try and find her father's black stare – even though she couldn't even see where the hell _she _was, let alone her _dad._ But she did it anyway, because it was too much, because of the sobs wracking her body, because the tears that came with them were slowly but surely draining her of her dignity, and she had to have some way, _any_ way, to keep at least a small portion of it andandand –

She couldn't even breathe due to that damn bag covering her skull and the panic that was taking over her and filling her and paralyzing her but making her want to scream and dance and jump and run and just . . . just . . . just . . .

_Okay, _she told herself, trying to keep at least her _mental_ voice from shaking like her real one, _breathe. Just breathe, Clary. You'll get through this. Jon and Valentine will tell you why, you will listen, and then they'll bring you with them to somewhere far away from here and the Lightwoods will be safe._

Her inner-Clary was being surprisingly reasonable. The small, gasping breaths she had been making in her fit of – of _something_ – were becoming more drawn out, longer, calmer, causing more oxygen and a feeling of calamity to flood her senses.

"Why did I _abandon_ you, Clary? That's a good question. But what makes for an even better one, I think, is . . . why did _you _abandon _me_?"

Once again, her father fell completely silent. The only thing telling her that his words had, indeed, been real and not just some messed-up illusion were the cutting traces of sound left behind in the form of echoes bouncing eerily against the walls, and Clary wondered how that could be, because the ground beneath her felt soft, and dirty, and not at all like something that could keep a spoken syllable or two on constant replay.

But then again, maybe that was just her imagination.

Wasn't everything?

.o.O.o.

_A Slap._

_Oww…that hurts…_

_A Crack._

_Please…_

_A Thump._

…_Stop it…it hurts… please…_

_A Scream._

_It really, really hurts…_

_A Curse._

_No… _it_ doesn't hurt…_

_A Plea._

… I_ hurt._

_Silence._

_Blood. Bloodd. Bloodbloodbloodbloodblood I see Blood. Everywhere around me everywhere I look there's Bloodbloodbloodblood EverywhereeverywhereeverywhereEVERYWHERE._

…_Wait…no…that's not…_

_That's not Blood at all._

_Why?_

_I thought… I thought it was…_

_It was there, wasn't it? I saw it. Yes, I saw it, I know I did. Red, red, red, RED on the floor and on the ceiling and onthewallsandonthegroundandintheairandonme?_

_On me?_

_Didn't it hurt? My body, it hurt, I know, I _felt _the pain._

_But no…that's not my body…it's just…it's just…_

…_It's just me._

_Why? How?_

_Why does my heart feel so empty? And how can it hurt so much at the same time?_

.o.O.o.

"A-abandoned you? What are you _talking _about?!" Clary screamed, thrashing around wildly as the meter on her voice rose in both volume and desperation until the little (invisibleinvisibleinvisibledoesnotexist) red hand was flailing in the right corner of the round (imaginaryimaginaryimaginary), clock-like dial as uncontrollably as Clary herself.

She was losing it. Which was weird, really, considering the fact that she'd been perfectly fine just an hour or so ago, apart from feeling very hung-over and slow in the head (and making jokes to herself and tuning out at the most dramatic moments only to realize that what she'd just missed could have been a completely life-changing thing had she only heard it. And then joking about it some more.)

Now all of that seemed like a sweet dream (butwhatifeverythingwas?), and she found herself thinking that she would given anything (andtheonlythingshecouldgivewaseverythingbecausesh ehadnothingleft) just to know what it was that Jace had said back at the cemetery that seemed so damn important to everyone else.

Because maybe, just maybe, that would provide her with a stepping stone to stop the fall into…_ something_ (insanityinsanityinsanity)… that she was undoubtedly experiencing.

And maybe it could give her wings and make her fly away (JustLikeAnAngel).

A deep chuckle resonated through the air, breaking through the somehow-clear fuzz that was Clary's thoughts through her ears and then settling to resonate there, instead.

"What am I talking about? You don't know? I'm talking about our bitch of a mother and about how you're exactly like her. You chose her over me and you know it. And I'm going to make you pay for it, _Clare-bear._"

Once again, Clary didn't understand. So she did the only thing she could think of, and inhaled. And inhaled. And inhaled. And inhaledandinhaledandinhaled until she realized the reason she was feeling dizzy all of a sudden was that she had too much oxygen in her lungs.

Then, she answered. "You're crazy."

Suddenly, she heard a _whoosh,_ like the sound your hand makes when you move it really fast through the air, and the next thing she knew, a hand was wrapped around her throat and a menacing voice was hissing, "If I were you little sister, I'd keep my mouth _shut._"

"_Jonathan._" The name barked sharply by hisher_their_ father was enough to make said boy back off a little, leaving a (her head spinning even faster than before) dazed Clary spluttering and gasping for breath in the humid confines of the cloth bag. The sentence kept replaying inside her mind like a broken tape recorder – _If I were you little sister I'd keep my mouth shut _crackle_ if I were you little sister I'd keep my mouth shut If I were you if I were you – _

And the resounding static was killing her.

That's when Clary Fray/Fairchild/Morgenstern started screaming.

The two white-haired men in the room exchanged a meaningful, slightly bemused, look in the pitch-black room before walking out of the room in a synchronized mockery of the march two soldiers might perform before going off to fight a war.

Because it's not a war if the other side has no chance of winning.

.o.O.o.

Blue sky, dotted with a few clouds. Tall trees with leaves of fiery red and sunny yellow, swaying gently in the breeze. A few pedestrians strolling calmly through the refined and meticulously Christmas-decorated streets of Idris. A country idyll. The American Dream.

Three teenagers running frantically toward an unknown goal, two boys and one girl, all frighteningly beautiful, all perfectly dressed, all with sheer and utter _panic_ written over their expressions.

Sound familiar? Well, it would, considering the almost exact same scene played out only a few hours earlier, only with an impish redhead in place of the tall, graceful brunette now dashing alongside the two (one of them displaying an eerie similarity to aforementioned female) boys (Men?). And, wait, no, there's one more difference. Let's start over.

Two teenagers practically being dragged by a third, who was running frantically toward an unknown goal, two boys and one girl, all frighteningly beautiful, all perfectly dressed, one with sheer and utter panic written over her expression while the others' faces were more . . . how to explain it . . . umm . . . anxious (for the one pulling them along by the hands, mind you) and slightly disgruntled. Yeah. That would be it.

Now how, pray tell, did it get from the Almost A Huge Disaster Depressing Graveyard Dilemma to this (hereby referred to as AAHDDGD) to the Alec and Jace Are Being Publically Humiliated While Isabelle Tries To Save Clary Emergency (aka AJBPHWITTSCE, JAHI, or Jace-and-Alec-are-Humongous-Idiots)? Well.

That's a completely different story and has nothing to do with what's happening right now. Well, it does, but for now, let's just say that Isabelle can be very _persuasive_ – especially when she'd practically just suffered Death by Live Burial and her best friend/sister had been abducted by the same maniacs who'd tried to kill her (and had succeeded in doing the same to her baby brother a few years ago). So, okay, _maybe_ Jace was trying to save his pride a little bit as he thought the whole thing over in his head, but man, Izzy was _scary_. Dude.

So, he didn't protest (and, okay, he might be experiencing a slight feeling of worry on the account of the girl –he would not say it he would not say it – loved – damn he said it), and instead just let his sister manhandle him and Alec to her every whim while at the same time trying to find Clary.

It wasn't going over too well. But they'd find her, he knew, they'd find her, and then this sick game was going to be over and everyone would be alright. (He refused to dwell on the fact that he was the one who'd told Valentine and Clary's brother to take her with them to save Izzy. He'd made his choice. Clary wasn't supposed to matter anymore.) Actually, scratch that. He'd follow Isabelle, and if they found Clary on the brink of being killed, there was a tiny possibility he would help her. So there.

Another sharp tug on his wrist and the trio flew off in the direction of the Alicante Institute.


End file.
